Your Adventure, My Dear Reader
by AnnMagda
Summary: A modern girl is transported back in time to 19th century Paris and finds herself in the Opera house... Sounds old? Like it's been done before? Sure, but this time it happens to YOU! Will you meet Erik? And can you trust the Narrator? COMPLETE!
1. A Letter to the Reader

Dear Reader,

In order to qualify as the main character in this Phantom of the Opera fanfic you need to meet a few basic requirements:

1) You must be a fan of the Phantom of the Opera (more or less).

2) You must be female (or really in touch with your feminine side, as other characters will be referring to you as "she").

3) You must be able to read (or know someone who is able to read and whom you can bribe to read this for you).

4) You must trust the Narrator of this story blindly and put your life entirely in her hands, as she sends you back in time to the late 1800's (or at least give her the benefit of the doubt, you know she means well).

5) You must be up for an adventure (or just looking for a break from that annoying Real Life).

6) You must not take requirements 1) through 5) too seriously. It is, after all, just fiction.

If, after having read this, you feel that you are the perfect leading lady of the story I am about to tell, please move on to the next chapter to learn how in the world you could end up in Paris, in the 19th century!

Enjoy!

Your obedient servant,

The Reliable Narrator

PS: If you don't already have a breathtaking (but as yet untrained) soprano voice, one will be given to you shortly. You may keep it if you like.


	2. Chapter I: You Meet the Narrator

**Chapter I: You Meet the Narrator**

Today is not going to be a day to remember.

Those are your thoughts as you sit in front of your computer, yawning with boredom. You are browsing some Phantom of the Opera fan fiction, hoping to find something to distract you for a while. Finding one story which looks interesting, you start reading. You sigh. It doesn't really seem all that good after all.

BANG! Suddenly, there is a loud explosion, right in the middle of your room. You are blinded by a bright light and desperate thoughts are running through your brain. What is going on? Can anybody help? During that short minute when you can't see, you picture in your mind's eye your very worst fears coming true. Then you hear a voice:

"Don't be afraid, my dear Reader!"

It is a female voice, and as you finally regain your eyesight, you see that a woman is standing in front of you.

It is me.

I am the most beautiful creature you have ever seen, with long blonde hair and radiant blue eyes. I am wearing a snow white robe, and a warm golden glow seems to emanate from me. Seeing that you are a bit shaken, I look at you kindly.

"Who are you?" you say, astonished.

A little confused, I take out a small notebook from a hidden pocket in my robe. After having consulted it, I turn back to you.

"Isn't this your name and address?" I ask, showing you a page in the notebook.

You read it and confirm that you are, apparently, the person I am looking for.

"Well then," I continue, "didn't you get my letter just now?"

"A letter?" you say, perplexed.

Then you remember. This must be the Narrator of the story you are about to take part in!

"I see!" you exclaim. "You are the Reliable Narrator!"

"At your service", I say, smiling.

"I didn't expect to meet you in person", you say. "And, at any rate, you look nothing like I had imagined."

"I don't really look like this", I confess, a bit shamefully. "But it's the advantage of being the Narrator, you know - I get to describe myself. Maybe I overdid it a bit."

You look at me, and see how the supernatural golden glow disappears, and how my features morph, going from unnatural beauty to just above average good looks.

"That's as far as I'll stretch", I say. "I won't make myself plain ugly just for the sake of honesty."

"Fair enough", you say. "But you promised to transport me back in time to the Paris Opera house during the 1800's. How exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"I can do anything!" I say, with emphasis. "In the very limited universe of this story, I am omnipotent, I am God!"

You start to wonder who this person is, and if your Narrator is really as reliable as she claims to be. Being not only omnipotent but omniscient as well, I sense your discomfort and decide to prove my point.

"Suspend disbelief", I say, "and I can take you anywhere! How about Antarctica?"

"No thanks", you say, "I want to go to Paris."

But it's too late. Suddenly, with a new loud explosion, you find yourself on top of a huge iceberg underneath a dark blue sky. It is freezing. There is a polar bear standing next to you. It looks at you with its big hungry eyes, ready to devour you...

"Wait a minute!" you say. "There are no polar bears in the south! They're only by the North Pole, aren't they?"

The iceberg and the polar bear fade away in a grey mist and you are back in your room.

"I told you to suspend disbelief!" I say, angrily. "If you are going to go all realistic on me we might as well give this up. You know as well as I do that Erik never existed in real life. How would you like that, eh? I send you back in time to the fifth cellar in the Paris Opera and there's nobody there, because you don't believe Erik ever was a real person.

"Okay, I understand your point", you say. "I will play the game."

"Good", I say. "In return, I will look after you so that you don't get hurt any more than necessary."

"Any more than necessary?"

"Well", I explain, "you are dealing with Erik, after all. I can't control his behavior fully, because he is not my creation. But I will make the adventure comfortable for you. For example, throughout this story, you will never once have to use the bathroom. It's just as well, given the hygiene standards in those days. Also, you will never be hungry or thirsty unless it's relevant to the plot. And if there is anything you need, just give me a call!"

"I need some clothes that fit the time period", you say.

"I already thought of that", I answer smugly. "Look inside your wardrobe."

You open your wardrobe and find a lot of beautiful long dresses, shoes, gloves and hats, all in the fashion of the 1880's.

"If you like", I say, "I can also make you more beautiful. Tell me if there is any part of your body you would like to have altered in this story."

You bend towards my ear and tell me, in a low whisper, about that one body part you were secretly never quite satisfied with, even though nobody else seemed to notice or care.

"Look in the mirror", I say, triumphantly.

You do what I ask you and discover, to your delight, that the physical flaw you mentioned is gone. There is also something else about you, a freshness, a brightness of the eyes, a glow of the hair, an energy which you can't quite explain.

"And now", I say, "as for the singing voice..."

"Yes?" you say, expectantly.

"Let me hear a few scales to judge if any adjustments will be necessary."

You start singing and it turns out you already have a wonderful soprano voice. The middle register is warm and smooth, and the high notes are as clear as crystal and in perfect pitch.

"That is amazing!" I exclaim.

You look at me suspiciously. Did your voice really sound that good in the shower this morning?

"Now", I say cheerfully, "pack your bags, suspend disbelief and off we go!"

And with a loud BANG your computer, your old room and your boring day are all nothing but a memory...


	3. Chapter II: Welcome to Paris

**Chapter II: Welcome To Paris!**

It takes a few minutes before you fully regain consciousness (if, indeed, one can talk about time while traveling through it). Wow, that was some explosion! Your head is spinning and at first, you don't know where you are. Then you hear it, the unmistakable sound of a horse neighing. You open your eyes and find yourself lying in the middle of a street, a few feet away from the rearing horse. The situation seems quite dangerous, and some bystanders are screaming at the driver:

"Watch out! There is a woman! Calm the horse down, quickly!"

Incredibly, all the Parisians seem to be speaking English, albeit with a strong French accent. You assume that this is because your new friend the Narrator is not sufficiently fluent in French.

"Not at all!" I object, indignantly. "I only do it because it's convenient. I do know some French - _Comment allez-vous? Voici un chat. _See?"

You can't see me anymore - I'm just a bodiless voice in your ear. I prefer to keep it that way now that the action is about to begin, because this is, after all, your story, not mine.

Looking around, you see several people rushing to your aid. One of them is a noble-looking, handsome man in his forties. He kneels down beside you and helps you to your feet. Leaning on him, you finally manage to limp towards the sidewalk. When you are in safety at last, you turn to him.

"Thank you very much, Monsieur", you say. "I am very much indebted to you."

"Do not speak of it, Mademoiselle." he says and flashes you a charming smile. "I am the Comte Philippe de Chagny, by the way."

"I am the Reader", you reply.

"Mademoiselle Reader, I am honored to make your acquaintance. Now, please tell me what you were doing lying in the middle of the street like that!"

"I don't remember", you answer evasively, sensing that now may not be the best moment to explain that you are actually a time traveller from the 21st century. After all, you just came to Paris and the last thing you want is to be locked up in an asylum within minutes of your arrival.

Philippe de Chagny throws you a worried glance.

"Are you certain you are feeling well, Mlle Reader?" he says.

"Oh, yes", you say. "I am all right. I was just a bit shaken, that is all. All these horses and carriages, they are a bit frightening when you are not used to them."

"So I take it you are not from here, then?" inquires the Comte.

"No, I only arrived today", you say. "I came to visit the Opera."

"Indeed?" said Philippe de Chagny. "A fellow music lover! I frequent the opera house a good deal myself. Are you traveling alone?"

"Yes", you say. "I have no friends or family in this world."

"I am sorry to hear that", he answers, interpreting your reply the only way he possibly could. You let him, thinking it saves you a lot of explanations.

"So", Philippe continues, "do you have a ticket for tonight's performance?"

"Not yet", you say. "Is it too late to buy one?"

The second after you have uttered those words, it hits you: You may not have any money! You try to rummage through your purse as discreetly as you can, but it is empty. Silently cursing your Narrator for forgetting such an important detail, you turn back to Philippe de Chagny.

"It may well be sold out tonight", he says. "That is, if you don't have a subscription."

"Oh", you say, a bit crestfallen, and look at the Count with sadness written on your face, flashing your eyelids just a little. The effect is not lost on him. Luckily, you are correct in your assumption that he is a ladies' man.

"Look here", Philippe says. "I subscribe to a box at the Opera, and I was planning to take my younger brother there this evening. His name is Raoul, and he is just back from the sea. I don't suppose you would care to join us?"

"Monsieur le Comte, it would be too much, I couldn't possibly accept such a generous offer!" you say hypocritically.

"Oh, but I insist", Philippe says, as you hoped he would. "My brother is rather shy and doesn't have an active social life. It would do him well to make some new acquaintances, especially when they are as charming as Mademoiselle."

He bows to you chivalrously.

"Why aren't the men in my century more like this?" you think to yourself. Aloud, you only say:

"I am very grateful to you, Monsieur."

"Now, may I be so bold as to suggest that you come with me to the de Chagny estate and rest a little?" Philippe continues. "I can see you have had a wearisome journey and my carriage is just around the corner."

You happily agree and follow the Count. That was surprisingly easy! Here you are, this strange girl he has never seen before, and already he treats you like an old friend. And as if that wasn't enough, he's taking you to the Opera! As you are sitting in the carriage, passing through the streets of Paris, you congratulate yourself on your good luck.

"Luck, pah!" you hear me snorting in your ear. "You looked like you needed some help. I couldn't let you get stuck in the exposition forever, could I?"


	4. Ch III: You Make a Surprising Discovery

**Chapter III: You Make a Surprising Discovery**

The de Chagny estate is quite magnificent, you notice as the carriage passes through the gates and you find yourself in a very beautiful park. There is a vast lawn, with a few straight gravel paths crossing it and a well-kept hedge around it. You can see several little flower beds with bushes, apparently roses, of an astounding variety. In the middle of the lawn, there is a small pond with a fountain the shape of two dancing children. It is all very charming, but still more impressive is the house itself - a large manor, seemingly several hundred years old. As your carriage comes to a halt in front of the entrance, Philippe de Chagny descends and helps you down the narrow steps. The coachman drives on towards what you believe to be the stables, a large red building in the distance.

"Well, Mlle Reader, welcome to my humble home!" says your companion. "I hope you are not too tired."

"Not at all", you say. On the contrary, you are full of excitement and curiosity.

"Good", he says, smiling. "Then I might have the pleasure of introducing you to my brother."

Philippe indicates with his hand towards the park behind you. Turning around, you see a young man walking up the gravel path. He is blonde and slightly feminine-looking. You find yourself wondering how such a fragile boy could last a day at sea.

"Hey, Narrator, what do you mean by that?" you whisper to me. "You are not building this up to be some kind of Raoul/Erik slashfic, are you?"

"Who, me?" I say innocently. "Not at all. I got that description straight from Leroux. Kind of."

"Raoul, brother dear", says Philippe, " I want you to meet someone. This charming young lady is Mademoiselle Reader, who was nearly run over by a horse in the city earlier today. She is all alone in the world, and as she is interested in opera, I invited her to come with us to the performance tonight."

Raoul bows courteously to you and you answer:

"It's a pleasure to meet you, M. le Vicomte."

"Now, Mademoiselle", Philippe continues, we should give you some time to freshen up. I am sure we can arrange for a bath and meanwhile, your dress will be cleaned for you."

"Thank you, M. le Comte", you say.

Your dress is not too pretty after your first encounter with a Parisian horse, and (through some oversight by your Narrator, undoubtedly) the bag you packed back in your own time somehow didn't make it to the 19th century. Gratefully, you let yourself be led into the house by a pretty little maid. When you leave, you overhear Raoul talking to his brother:

"Surely it was a little impulsive bringing that woman here?" he says uneasily. "You didn't even ask if it was all right by me that she should come with us tonight. Do you really mean to say you never met her before?"

You don't hear Philippe's contrived explanation to this obvious logical fallacy, because you are already inside the manor. The maid leads you up a flight of stairs and into a small bathroom. While she pours you a bath and hands you a robe to put on, you try to make some small talk, with little success. You are not quite comfortable with this situation, as you don't have any servants back home. At least not any official ones.

"That is very kind of you, Mademoiselle", you say as the maid declares that your bath is ready. "

"I am usually called Christine."

What?

For the first time, you take a good look at the maid. She has spoken with a foreign accent, and there is something Scandinavian about her appearance. But, surely, it can't be THE Christine - she works at the Opera!

"Narrator, what is going on? Is this Christine Daaé and why isn't she a singer?" you don't say, because the maid it still in the room. But you think it, very loudly, inside your head.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" I reply. "I'm not here to act as your personal tourist guide."

You try to think of a diplomatic way to find out what you want to know. After all, if Christine is happy working as a maid, you don't want to put any ideas into her head by asking the wrong questions. You know only too well that her absence from the Opera house is likely to benefit you both personally and professionally.

"Is that a Swedish accent?" you finally ask.

"Yes", Christine replies. "I am from Sweden. But I moved here years ago with my father."

That's a promising start. Maybe you can get her to talk some more, you think.

"You father works here, too?" you say. A bit heartless, perhaps, but it's worth a try.

It works.

"No, alas, my father passed away years ago. He was a violinist. You may have heard of him - Gustave Daaé?"

"Yes, of course, I know of him very well. A Swedish acquaintance of my late great-uncle used to speak very enthusiastically about his talent", you lie. "He also mentioned that Daaé had a young daughter with a very beautiful singing voice."

Christine looks at you with sadness in her eyes. You feel just a little guilty.

"It is true that I used to sing as a child", she says. "But when my father died, so did my interest in music. Besides, I had to make a living. The Count de Chagny was very kind to employ me, because he knew my father's benefactor, Professor Valerius."

You see that Christine is now very emotional, and you simply nod sympathetically at her. She curtseys at you and rushes out of the room.

"Well, Narrator, you arranged that very neatly", you say when the maid is gone.

"Thank you", I say. "I had to get her out of the way somehow, at least while you're around. After all, we both know Erik would never look at you if Christine played a significant part in this story. Sad but true. I won't drag him as far out of character as all that."

When you get out of the bath, your dress is lying in the room next door, clean and dry. It is already almost dark outside. You look down on your own body and discover that you resemble a dried raisin. Hardly surprising, given the amount of time you must have been soaked in water! Putting on the dress, you go downstairs to meet the de Chagny brothers. Philippe beams on you as you descend, whereas Raoul is looking shy and slightly reserved.

"Are you ready, Mlle Reader?" Philippe asks.

"Yes, indeed", you say.

"Then let's go to the Opera. Our carriage is waiting."


	5. Chapter IV: At the Opera Finally!

**Chapter IV: At the Opera (Finally!)**

The Opera is everything you could ever dream of. As you enter the building, accompanied by the de Chagny brothers, you are amazed at how everything is exactly as you had imagined it (and quite a bit like the 2004 movie) - the splendor, the over-the-top ornamentations, the magnificent large staircase. When you take your seat in one of the boxes, waiting for the curtain to rise, you notice with some satisfaction that the large chandelier is still in place. It seems you haven't missed any of the good parts! Then again, you think, there is no telling how closely your story will follow the original one.

"Fine", I say in your ear. "If you want a dropping chandelier, you shall have it. Who am I to stand in the way of your morbidity? Never mind the poor concierge sitting directly underneath it."

The chandelier starts quivering for no apparent reason. You hasten to whisper:

"Please, Narrator, never mind me! It's not really all that important. I don't care about the chandelier, and I didn't even think about the concierge."

"People never do", I reply. "I don't know why I bother putting in these non-essential characters. It's all Erik, Erik, Erik. I could have filled the auditorium with a sack of potatoes in each seat instead of human beings, and you wouldn't even have noticed. Would you?"

"Stop it", you say, trying to suppress a giggle. "That's not true!"

Raoul de Chagny throws you a glance of utter confusion, then whispers something in his brother's ear. The latter looks at you with some concern.

"Mademoiselle, is everything all right?" Philippe asks.

You flash him an apologetic smile and make a mental note to be more discreet the next time you address your Narrator in public. For now, you have other things on your mind. The opera is about to begin!

Where you are sitting, you have a good view of the orchestra pit. The conductor enters the podium, shaking hands with the concert master. Then, the ouverture begins. Consulting your program, you see that the opera tonight is La Juive by Halévy, an obscure French opera you know nothing about (and, incidentally, an obscure French opera _I _know nothing about, besides what I just read on Wikipedia). The lead female role, however, is being played by La Carlotta. This should be fun!

You start watching the show, and soon find yourself less intrigued by the plot than trying to figure out who's who on the stage. Of course, it's not too hard to see which of the singers is Carlotta. Everything, the props, the scenery, the movements of the other singers and the ballet, it all seems to have been set up to glorify her performance. Her status as the diva in residence is undisputed. As she takes her place center stage, the world seems to revolve around her. It really gets on your nerves. And yet, she is not a bad singer, you admit to yourself. Only an annoying one.

In the first interval, you can't stop pestering the Comte de Chagny to make him point out all the principal players of the drama. That is, you don't just ask him "Which one is Meg Giry?", for obvious reasons. But with a little bit of guesswork, you figure it out. In fact, you learn from him all he knows about the ballet, which seems to be a great deal, since Philippe is on friendly terms with the prima ballerina, La Sorelli.

Apparently, the two youngest of the corps de ballet are Meg Giry and Cecile Jammes, both of whom Philippe describes to you in detail, so that you have no difficulty in placing them. Meg has black hair and is remarkably thin, and Little Jammes is short, blonde and pale. They are fifteen years old and act their age. As you leave your box you can see them peeping through the curtains at the audience and whispering to each other, until their faces abruptly disappear, probably at the insistence of someone backstage. The conductor's name is M. Reyer, and you also learn some of the names of the other singers, but as you don't recognize them from any version of the Phantom story, you don't pay any attention to them.

"And those", continues Philippe, who is only too happy to play the all-knowing guide, are the managers, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny!"

"I would love to meet them!" you say, already picturing yourself being hired as the new star at the opera.

Philippe introduces you to the managers. For a split second, you consider treating them to an impromptu opera performance, but you reluctantly dismiss this idea as maybe a bit too pushy. However, you do casually mention that you are a soprano. One never knows, there might be an opening in the chorus! But the managers simply smile at you and say:

"How nice, my dear!"

Grinding your teeth, you return to your box and wait for the next act to begin. Raoul and Philippe follow just a few steps behind you. As you take your seats, Philippe makes a brave effort to get Raoul to speak to you. You don't get the impression that the young Vicomte is hostile towards you, only that he is reserved by nature and (you guess) perhaps a little tired of his brother's attempts to introduce him to nice young ladies.

"Mademoiselle Reader", says Philippe, "why don't you tell us a little about yourself?"

Your mind immediately starts racing. You should have used all that time you spent in the bath this afternoon to make up a decent life story! As it is now, ad-libbing is your only option.

"Well..." you say, realizing that all you can do is to let the words flow and hope for the best, "I only just arrived in Paris. I grew up in a very small village."

"Oh, what was the name of the village?" asks the Count with genuine interest.

You try to think of something French-sounding. Anything. Looking at the glass in the Count's hand, you finally say, with some relief:

"Champagne."

In order to avoid further questioning, you go on rapidly:

"But I left my home when my parents died, and I have been traveling the countryside since. I came to Paris looking to find some means of providing for myself. I am a singer. I mean, I used to sing at fairs and markets, going from village to village..."

You stop. Your back story is starting to sound suspiciously like Christine's. In order to avoid falling into that trap, you add a few personal details, which are true as far as they go, but you omit the very significant fact that you came from the 21st century.

"Very interesting", Philippe says encouragingly. "Don't you think so, Raoul?"

"Yes, indeed", Raoul says. "Quite remarkable. Now, I think the next act is about to begin."

This act proves to be rather more eventful than the previous one. Now that you recognize some of the people on stage, you can observe them more closely. Carlotta is even more pompous than before, making monstrous tempo changes whenever she reaches a high note, just to show the world that she can hold it as long as she likes. The conductor and the orchestra are struggling with this, and you are starting to feel some sympathy towards them. But what really catches your interest is the behavior of the two small dancers, Meg Giry and little Jammes. In the middle of a ballet scene, one of them throws a worried glance towards the ceiling, and then looks significantly at the other. From this moment, the girls seem very preoccupied and make several mistakes in their dancing. Meg even stumbles and falls once, as her gaze is fixed on something which is apparently occurring behind the stage. Finally, she stops dancing altogether and points towards the ceiling, screaming in a shrill voice:

"Watch out!"

A split second later, a large and heavy object falls down onto the stage. It lands on one of the chorus girls, who collapses in a heap on the floor. The music breaks off as people are screaming and calling out for a doctor. You stretch your neck to see more. The girl seems to be alive, at least, but she probably won't be on stage for quite a while. She is picked up by a few strong men and carried off stage. After some discussion, it is decided that the opera will continue as planned. As the music starts again, you whisper:

"Narrator, what was it that fell on that poor girl?"

"It was a plot device", I answer. "They can sometimes be dangerous. But now, I suspect, the opera will be needing a new chorus member!"

"Do you think that girl was a soprano?" you ask, with some anticipation.

I chuckle in your ear.

"I'm counting on it", I say.


	6. Chapter V: You Audition for the Chorus

**Chapter V: You Audition for the Chorus**

True enough, the poor girl who was nearly squashed like an insect during the performance of La Juive was a soprano. In order not to make you feel guilty for taking advantage of her injury, I will start this chapter by reassuring you that she will make a rapid and full recovery, but decide not to return to the opera because she fears the Phantom. So you see, by auditioning for the chorus you will be doing the Opera a great favor and setting yourself up for an adventure as well. Just go for it, you have my blessing!

"But", you object, "I don't know what to sing for the managers."

"Anything you like!" I say, encouragingly. "As long as it was composed before 1880".

That kind of rules out anything from the musical... Thinking it over, you find an opera aria you like and decide to go with that. You secretly practice your aria in your bathroom in the de Chagny manor, where Philippe is letting you stay for vague reasons of his own (that is, he lets you stay in the manor, not the bathroom. It's not _that_ kind of story). You suspect that things aren't going so well between him and La Sorelli, and he does seem taken in by your beauty and charms. Raoul, however, barely gives you the time of day since he's busy eyeing the maid.

"So", Philippe says one day over breakfast, "I understand that you are a soprano looking for a position."

"Yes!" you say.

"Well, you remember me telling you about the opening in the chorus due to that terrible accident when we were at the Opera? They are having auditions today, I heard."

This is the information you have been waiting and preparing for. With high expectations, you arrange for the de Chagny carriage to take you into town that very morning.

"Break a leg!" I whisper in your ear as you go.

When you arrive at the Opera, you discover you are not the only one auditioning today. There is a queue on the street outside the entrance. You feel like you're in American Idol or some other reality talent show, and you think to yourself that some things never change. There are all kinds of girls in the queue - young, old, tall, short, gifted, not so gifted. It takes three hours before you make it to the managers, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny. Luckily, they recognize you from a few days ago.

"Ah, Mlle Reader!" M. Poligny says, smiling. "You are the friend of Comte Philippe de Chagny."

"That's right", you say.

"I'm sorry, I can't seem to remember your full name", he continues.

Should you use your real name? You don't know where this story will lead and, by the way, you have already lied about your history. Maybe it's a better choice to use an alias.

"Angelique-Céléstine Reader", you say rapidly, thinking it would give the managers a very bad first impression of you if you hesitate while saying your own name.

Then it hits you. Angelique-Céléstine? What were you thinking? Well, it's too late now.

"Well, Mademoiselle", M. Debienne says. "Let us hear what you have to sing!"

You tell them which piece you are singing, and the accompanist nods approvingly.

"Key?" he says.

"The original key, of course", you say.

Then it begins. The accompanist plays the introduction. Your heart is beating faster. This is it! The seconds pass slowly as you take in the room, your body, the music... When it's your turn to start singing, you take a deep breath and then you relax, letting the sounds flow from your body. It feels wonderful! You look at the managers and see their approving smiles as you keep singing, making the most of every moment. When you finish your last note, you sigh deeply and smile at the managers.

"Well?" you say.

"That was very good, Mademoiselle", M. Poligny says. "Of course, the competition is tough, but we will keep you in mind and let you know. Again, you have a beautiful voice. Where have you worked before?"

You squirm.

"Nowhere in particular", you say, looking at your shoes. "Just here and there."

"And who is your professor?"

"Nobody you know", you say, feeling stupid. What else can you say?

"Most curious", says M. Debienne with a frown. "Thank you, Mlle Reader."

When the door closes behind you, you can't help wondering how you did. It seemed like they were impressed by your voice, but apart from that, you are afraid you might have come across as inexperienced. And there are so many other singers auditioning. Do you really stand a chance?

"Of course you do!" I say, encouragingly. "do you think I brought you all the way here just so you could be rejected?"

"No, you're right", you say, regaining your confidence. "This is my story, of course I will get the job!"

You wait, along with many other hopeful singers, outside the managers' office. It takes forever and you haven't eaten or had anything to drink since this morning. You are starting to feel lightheaded. Finally, the door opens and the face of M. Poligny shows up in the opening.

"The new soprano in the chorus will be... Mademoiselle Marie Marceau!"

You look around in shock. A dark-haired beauty who must be the lady in question rushes to her feet and runs to give M. Poligny a kiss on the cheek. She then pushes her way into the office and the door closes again. You can hear her silly giggling from within. The other singers who have been waiting with you rise as well, cursing under their breaths. One of them says what you are all thinking at the moment:

"It is obvious the little tart only got the job because she is his mistress!"

You are still dazed. This is not how it was supposed to happen! You were supposed to amaze the managers with your extraordinary talent, and they would accept you in the chorus without question. What is the meaning of this? Disappointed, you start descending the stairs towards the exit. However, the staircase is crowded with all the other rejected singers, so you turn back, thinking there must be another way out.

After a while of searching and going back and forth through long dark corridors with closed doors (assumably offices of the administration), you decide there is probably not another way out after all, or if there is, you can't find it. Instead, you try to find your way back to the stairs by the managers' office. But you can't. You are lost. And you are not even lost in the fifth cellar or backstage or in any other glamorous part of the opera, but in the administration corridors of all places! Fatigued and hungry, you sink down onto the floor, raising your fist as you scream with your last ounce of strength:

"Narrator! Why are you doing this to me?"

But you get no answer. Maybe I feel guilty. Or maybe I have other plans for you...


	7. Chapter VI: You Meet You Know Who

**Chapter VI: You Meet You Know Who**

When you wake up, it takes you a few moments to remember where you are and why. Because, of course, you fainted at the end of Chapter V. You now know the reason why all the ladies in 19th century novels keep swooning and fainting. It's not mere affectation on their part, nor is it because they are women and therefore intrinsically fragile creatures. It's the corset. Putting up with it is bad enough when you just have to walk around looking pretty, but singing opera in it is a different thing altogether, especially when you are a little nervous and haven't had anything to eat or drink for hours and hours.

"Is that why it happened, Narrator?" you ask, a little worried. You aren't used to fainting.

"Of course", I say. "Don't worry about it, you'll be fine. And by the way, I'm sorry about messing up your chorus job, but it's for the best, really. You'll see."

Feeling a little better, you look around to grasp your situation. You are at the end of a corridor somewhere in the administration part of the Opera. It is dark and quiet, so you guess the other singers and the managers have all conveniently gone home while you were unconscious. You are now all alone. That is, you assume you must be alone, until you suddenly hear a powerful voice:

"Disgraceful, Mademoiselle!"

Startled, you look around, but see nothing. If it is Erik, he sounds very angry, and you don't know why.

"Who is there?" you say, feeling very small and frightened.

Instinctively, you raise your hand to the level of your eyes, in case of emergency. The voice continues, sharply:

"It was disgraceful, what the managers just did! You were by far the most qualified singer, and yet they chose to give the position to that half-wit Marie Marceau, on account of Heaven knows what qualities, but I am sure they are such that can not be spoken of in polite company."

"Monsieur?" you say. "Where are you? Who are you?"

After all, you can't start calling the poor Phantom by his first name without proper introductions. It would seem highly suspicious.

"It is enough to say that I am an advocate of true art. And, Mademoiselle, if I may be so bold, I heard it in your voice today. You are as yet inexperienced, but with the proper training I have no doubt you could go very far indeed."

"All I want is to create music!" you exclaim, with fervor.

(And become the new star at the Opera and get really close to Erik in the process, of course. But your exclamation is true as far as it goes.)

"I am glad to hear it, Mlle Angelique-Céléstine Reader", the voice says, seemingly weighing every syllable. "Your name..."

"What of it?" you snap, defensively.

"It is certainly unusually... otherworldly."

"And may I ask your name, Monsieur?" you retort.

The voice laughs quietly.

"Lucifer Diabolique d'Enfer", he says, with a hint of irony.

"The devil?" you ask. "Surely, that is not your real name?"

That is, you are sincerely hoping it isn't, because if it is, you are in way over your head right now. After all, you don't really know where this story is heading and what the Narrator may have been smoking before writing this chapter. This could easily get very ugly.

"YES, I AM THE DEVIL!" the voice shouts and in an explosion of flames you see a horrible demon coming to carry you off to Hell...

No, just kidding. That's not what happens. Instead the voice answers you, in the same ironic tone:

"I assure you, Mademoiselle, that my name is as real as yours."

That settles it, then - if it isn't the devil incarnate, it must be Erik! He clearly doesn't buy into that ridiculous name you came up with on the spur of the moment in the managers' office.

"And I am glad he doesn't!" I say, having kept silent for much longer than I would have liked. "I am getting tired just typing that name."

You hiss at me to be quiet. This is, after all, a very important moment for you in the story and you want to get it just right. You are just about convinced now that you are in fact speaking with the Phantom himself, and you are very eager to make a good impression. If only he would come forward so you could see his mask, you'd know for sure! Deciding to try something new, you say:

"Please Monsieur, whatever your name is, could you help me? I am lost in this building, I'm tired and hungry and I have nowhere to go..."

"Except for the luxurious de Chagny estate?" the voice fills in. There is obviously no fooling Erik.

"It's only temporary", you stammer, "until I find a job and can rent a place of my own. I don't know how long I will be able to stay there as their guest. And now, it seems, I will not have any luck at the Opera, so I don't really know what to do next."

"Are you so sure you will not succeed at the Opera after all, Mademoiselle?" the voice says.

"What do you mean?"

"Only that if you are willing to submit your voice to my care I would be able to make it blossom, and you might find yourself in a more celebrated position than the little Marie Marceau could ever dream of!"

"I will do anything!" you say, enthusiastically.

"Very well", the voice says. "Come here tomorrow morning."

Bingo! You are so happy that you quite forget that you are hungry and tired, and that you _still _don't know the way out of the building. When you remember to ask Erik for directions, you get no answer. He has probably already gone off to strangle some intruder in the fifth cellar.

"Second to the right and down the stairs", I sigh in your ear. "Really, how hard can it be?"


	8. Chapter VII: Your Lesson With Erik

**Chapter VII: Your Lesson With Erik**

The following morning, you are full of anticipation. You are hoping that Erik has got a good first impression of you, and that you will be able to build on that. In fact, you would not be completely opposed to being abducted by him right away, since you are starting to notice small but unmistakable signs that you may soon have outstayed your welcome in the de Chagny manor. It is true that Philippe was a little smitten by you at first, but as it has become clear to him that you are not interested, and as Raoul still only has eyes for the maid Christine, there is really no reason for you to stay with them any longer. Of course, they are both too polite to be frank with you about this, but you can sense their relief when you tell them, over breakfast, that you are considering moving on.

"But where will you go?" Philippe asks.

"I have been offered singing lessons by a great tutor, who has kindly offered me to stay with him for a while", you say.

That is, you are hoping it will turn out that way after Erik realizes what a remarkable person you are.

"Really?" the Count says, "is it someone I know of?"

"I think not", you say. "He is not very well known, but I have a lot of faith in his abilities."

You leave it at that and borrow the de Chagny carriage one last time, asking to be taken into town. Your goodbyes with the noble brothers are cordial but essentially you couldn't care less about them now that you are on your way to meet Erik.

"You ungrateful little twit!" I remark in your ear. "You do realize, of course, that those two are both very good and kind men, and that you are leaving them behind for a homicidal maniac?"

"That may well be, my dear Narrator", you reply with dignity, "but they are two very _boring _good and kind men. Spending a day with them is like watching paint dry. At least with Erik, I am sure life will be exciting."

"Have it your way, then", I say maliciously, "I will give you excitement. You wait and see!"

You are dropped off a few blocks from the Opera house. As you walk towards your destination, you fantasize about how you will immediately bond with Erik over an aria from Don Juan Triumphant. You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you only just manage to avoid being trampled down by yet another rearing horse in the street.

(It is, in fact, the same rearing horse you landed in front of on your first day in Paris, but you don't notice that immediately. As it happens, that is one of my stock horses. This story doesn't really have all that many separate horses. If you look at them closely you will see there are only four in total in this entire fictional universe, but I reuse them quite a lot in different contexts. This is the brown one, because he's the one that's most easily frightened.)

When you reach the Opera, you wonder which way to go. The whole building seems to be closed for the day, as there is no performance tonight. You walk around in front of the entrance, hoping that a gloved hand will appear from behind a corner and beckon to you. Instead, a dark figure wearing an astrakhan cap approaches you, seemingly from out of nowhere. He seems anxious and looks around him as if he is being followed. When he reaches you, he leans towards you and whispers:

"Go back where you came from, Mademoiselle! Do not come here again, whatever you do! Your very life may depend on it."

You smile at him.

"I know what I am doing", you say confidently.

He shakes his head vigorously.

"You couldn't possibly! I must insist that you leave this place immediately, or you will find yourself in great danger."

"I am willing to take that risk", you say.

"You are foolish", the man says, sadly. "But now you have been warned."

And before you know it, the man in the astrakhan cap is gone. When you look around to see what may have become of him, you happen to notice a small open door beside the main entrance of the Opera. Through the narrow opening, you see the gloved hand you have been waiting for, beckoning you to come closer. Your heart pounding faster (this must be Erik at last!), you follow without any hesitation.

When you enter through the door, you find yourself in a small ill-lit corridor. At the end of it is a dark figure, still signaling to you to follow it. You keep going, through the corridor, up a flight of stairs, through a new maze of corridors, until you find yourself deep inside the Opera house. There, in a dark, out-of-the-way spot, a door is ajar, and you can hear music playing from within. You enter to find an old-fashioned dressing room, its only extraordinary feature a large mirror covering one of the walls. There is nothing to indicate where the music comes from, but it is absolutely beautiful. Of course, you correctly assume that the music comes from behind the mirror. You are, after all, not stupid.

"Mademoiselle Reader", the voice greets you, "I bid you welcome to our first lesson!"

"I am here, Monsieur!", you say, "or should I call you Maestro?"

"You may call me what you like", the voice says. "You seem to have quite a talent for inventing names."

"In that case", you say tentatively, "I would like to call you Erik."

That may not have been the best move. The door of the dressing room is slammed shut as if by magic, and the voice roars at you in a menacing tone:

"Who have you been talking to? What do you know of me? Mademoiselle, if you must know anything, it should be this: I do not like to have my secrets exposed!"

"I am sorry", you say in a trembling voice, "I didn't mean to offend you. I just blurted out a random name I liked. But I take it from your reaction it is your actual name, then?"

"That is the most implausible lie I have ever heard!" I can't help but comment. "Do you _really_ think Erik will believe that?"

Of course, he doesn't.

"Who told you my name?" he hisses. "Tell me now, or I swear you will not live another minute!"

Before you have time to react, a noose has flown through the air and wrapped itself tightly around your neck. You have just made the acquaintance of the Punjab lasso. Hardly able to breathe, and with panic rising inside you, you try to think of an explanation which will satisfy Erik. The truth? Too unbelievable. Clairvoyance? No, that's not good enough either.

"The Persian told me", you finally gasp.

That does it. You feel the Punjab lasso releasing its hold around your neck slightly, but Erik is still furious as he continues interrogating you:

"Curse him! What else did he say?"

"He just advised me not to come here if I valued my life."

"Well", Erik says, sounding almost amused, "at least there he may have had a point. So what on Earth drove you to come anyway?"

"I wanted you to teach me how to sing", you say. "I am willing to do anything, risk anything, if I can only have that."

The noose drops harmlessly to your feet. You seem to have pacified Erik for the moment.

"So", he says with some interest, "you seem to have a lot of determination. In that case, I suggest we start the lesson now, before I really do kill you."

Relieved, you agree with Erik's suggestion. At the same time, a small doubt has formed in your mind. What have you got yourself into? This man is actually dangerous, not just in the "sexy bad guy" sense, but in the sense that he could actually murder a person, even you if he wanted to. Perhaps you are getting more than you bargained for...

"Told you so", I hum melodically in your ear, but you ignore me.

"Now sing", Erik demands. "Sing the aria you sang for the managers."

The introduction plays behind the mirror and you start singing, putting your heart and soul into the music. But Erik stops you after just a few measures.

"You have a beautiful voice, Mademoiselle, and there is genuine emotion and musicality in your singing. However, you are too private, too modest. You sing for yourself. You need to learn to put more intensity into your voice and your expression in order to communicate with an audience. It's not enough that _you _feel something - you must convey your feelings to others, too. Start again, and sing for me this time. I am far away, but you want me to hear every nuance of emotion in your voice. Relax, and let your voice fill a larger space than yourself. Like this!"

Erik sings a few notes to show you how to do it. His voice is astonishing, like nothing you have ever heard. It is truly the voice of an angel, an archangel, a god even! You feel inspired by the sound of it, and you try again from the beginning of the aria. This time, you feel more confident and allow your voice to grow, trying to match what you have just heard. Erik lets you sing almost half the aria.

"That is better", he says, approvingly. "Your voice is stronger than you think, if you rely on your breath to carry it instead of tensing the muscles of your throat. You still have to work on preparing your high notes better, though, if you want to achieve a more well-rounded sound. Let us go back and work from the beginning."

You continue working on the aria for nearly two hours. Each time Erik stops you, he sings a little to demonstrate how you can improve your phrasing, your breathing technique or your vowel placement. He dares you to go further in expressing the emotions of the aria than you had ever thought possible. When the lesson is over, you are exhausted but exhilarated. You have never sung like that in your life!

"You progress, Mademoiselle Reader", Erik says as the door of the dressing room opens automatically, indicating that it is time for you to leave.

When you walk through the door you find to your great surprise that there are little fluorescent arrows on the floor of the corridor, pointing you towards the exit. You are quite sure they weren't there when you arrived.

"Well, it was that or giving you a GPS receiver", I explain. "But then it hit me that satellites are probably not invented yet, so I opted for this."

"Because naturally", you say with a bit of sharpness in your voice, "it never hit you that I might actually have memorized the way out this time!"

"Frankly, no", I say.

Actually, you can't have memorized it, because, as a matter of fact, the way out is not the same as the way in. I have amused myself by making some changes to the locations of some stairs and corridors in the Opera house, while you were in your dressing room. Not that I had any reason for doing so - I just had to keep myself busy for two hours while you were singing your heart out. If you are to continue having these long lessons with Erik, you had better get used to this architectural creativity of mine.


	9. Chapter VIII: A Day In Town

**Chapter VIII: A Day In Town**

After having left the Opera, you take some time to digest what has just happened. You have had a lesson with Erik! And he is everything you ever dreamt he would be, and more. He is a wonderful teacher, and a fantastic singer. His voice fills you with all kinds of divine feelings (and some decidedly carnal ones, as well). You are amazed by his wit and he possesses a certain dark charm. Last but not least, you are afraid of him. This is something you hadn't expected, being a Phantom fan and all, but nearly being Punjabed can do that to a person. It's perfectly understandable.

"But he can't really hurt me, can he?" you ask, uncertainly. "I mean, this is my story, and you did promise to keep me safe."

"I promised to keep you _reasonably_ safe", I say. "But if I remember correctly, I also did warn you that Erik is not my creation, so I can't be held fully responsible for what he does. I did not invent his personality, and I can't make him do anything that is against his nature. The bottom line is, if you want to be safe, you had better be careful when interacting with Erik. Don't cross him. He is completely insane, after all."

"Fine", you say, a little nervously.

This is not quite the reassurance you were looking for. However, you decide to make the most of your story. Since the Opera seems to be closed right now, you decide to stroll around Paris to get an impression of what it must have been like in the 1880's. You leave the Opera Garnier behind you and prepare for an adventure.

It doesn't take you long to discover that something is very wrong with this Paris. Once you are a few blocks away from the Opera, everything becomes rather sketchy. You see non-descript streets and facades, and hear people talking to each other in that ridiculous broken English, or sometimes in incomprehensible gibberish French, since what they say isn't important for the plot. Now and then, a carriage passes by you, but they are all identical and drawn by one of four possible horses. You suddenly find yourself in front of the Notre Dame, only to realize that it is not open for visitors (because I don't know what it looks like on the inside). Looking up at the gargoyles, you marvel at how they look like something from a Disney movie.

Turning in the opposite direction, you are amazed to suddenly see the Eiffel Tower popping up at the horizon, only to disappear exactly three minutes later (the amount of time it took for me to check my facts on Wikipedia and learn the tower wasn't built until the late 1890's). As you continue walking, you see absolutely nothing else to remotely suggest that you are in Paris.

"Hey, Narrator", you say, "you don't seem to have wasted any time on local research here! Have you ever even been to France?"

"No", I answer with some annoyance, "but that's not the point! You're not meant to stroll around like a tourist! This is not an academic paper on architecture or a travel guide, you're supposed to stick to the Phantom of the Opera plot. At least there I know what I'm talking about."

"You mean you have browsed through the book?" you say ironically.

"I have _read _it!" I snap furiously. "Several times! I even struggled my way through it once in French, just because I wanted to read the original! And I can recite the musical by heart, and I've seen the Lon Chaney movie, and the one with that _Nightmare on Elm Street _guy, and the 1990 TV miniseries, and I've read _Phantom _by Susan Kay, and... and..."

"What?" you say.

"I've even read _Phantom of Manhattan_", I say, shamefacedly.

"That's it!" you say, horror-stricken. "Now I know I want out of this story!"

"Calm down!" I say, with my last ounce of authority. "I never said I liked it. Now please go back to the Opera!"

"Why? It's closed."

"I'll think of something", I say.

You return to the Opera. It's surprisingly easy to find, simply because I want you to get back there quickly. When you get there, the Persian is waiting for you.

"Mademoiselle", he says pleadingly, "I implore you once again to leave this house while you still can."

You have had it. You are sick and tired of being told what to do and where to go. Losing your usual ladylike composure, you take the poor surprised Persian by the ears and lift him up several inches in the air with sudden superhuman strength.

"Listen", you hiss between your teeth. "I have come a very long way to see this Opera house, and I am not going anywhere. Now, as it happens, I have no place to live, and I would very much appreciate if you could let me in and help me find somewhere inside the Opera where I could stay tonight."

The Persian stares at you as if he has seen the Devil. You feel sorry for him.

"I apologize, Monsieur", you say. "I don't know what got into me. Would you please help me?"

He nods quietly and leads you around to the other side of the building, where he shows you a small door which he unlocks with a large rusty key.

"There are several empty spaces inside the Opera and you are not the first one to seek refuge there for the night", he says. "But it is entirely your responsibility. I only have this to say: stay away from the cellars!"

"Sure", you say, grinning, as you close the door triumphantly behind you.

You are in the Opera house! Alone, in the dark, empty Opera house, your only company a murderous madman lurking somewhere in the shadows. And you are going to sleep here tonight...

Good heavens, what have you done?


	10. Chapter IX: Midnight at the Opera

**Chapter IX: Midnight at the Opera**

Almost as soon as you are alone in the dark, you start feeling slightly uneasy. This is what you have wanted all along, to have Erik and the Opera house all to yourself, but now that you are here, you start questioning whether it was such a good idea after all. You don't want to do anything to awaken Erik's rage once more at this point - the feeling of his noose around your neck is still very fresh in your memory. If you are to stay here tonight, you had better find a place far away from his domain. Getting close to him will be very much like taming a wild beast, you will have to proceed with the utmost caution.

Suddenly, you are interrupted in your thoughts by the unexpected sound of subdued laughter. You start and look around, but can't see anything in the darkness. The laughter grows in strength until it has become loud and uncontrollable, and you recognize Erik as its most likely source.

"Who is there?" you say, knowing the answer.

"Mademoiselle, you continue to surprise me!" answers the amused voice of the Phantom. "I could not help but notice your rather unceremonious treatment of the good Daroga just now. And may I add that it is something I have many times pondered doing myself! I am afraid he is something of a busybody, although his intentions are good."

"I assure you, I am not in the habit of lifting grown men by the ears", you reply, smiling. "But I had just had a most exasperating experience. I discovered I am more or less bound to the immediate vicinity of the Opera house."

"Indeed? Why?" Erik asks with some interest.

"I can't walk around in Paris. Everything becomes a blur almost as soon as I leave the Opera."

"Agoraphobia?" Erik says, tentatively.

"Not exactly", you say. "It's just that all the streets look the same and things aren't where they're supposed to be..."

You have to bite your tongue not to add "due to sloppy narration". After all, how do you explain to someone that he's a fictional character? You don't know what kind of crisis that would throw Erik into, given that he's not exactly balanced to begin with.

"If you're so ill at ease in Paris, why didn't you remain with your noble friends in the country?" Erik asks. "Or are you not welcome there anymore?"

"I didn't want to take advantage of their hospitality any longer", you explain. "Besides, I have a feeling I should be here, where there is music around me. The Opera intrigues me, and I want to be a part of it. Someday, I hope to be center stage, to sing in front of a large audience... I am not sure how or when, but it is my greatest wish."

At least, it is one of them. You have another wish as well, but you (wisely) decide to keep it to yourself for the moment. Having steered the conversation to the one safe topic you can think of, music, you find yourself able to relax a little.

"You will sing on that stage", Erik says. "Only allow me to tutor you and do exactly as I say, and your voice will develop beautifully in time. A new star will rise at the Opera Populaire. The 'when' depends on you. As for the 'how', it is better left to me."

"I am sure that is for the best", you say pleasantly. "I trust your judgment completely when it comes to music."

That is about the only area where Erik's judgment is to be trusted. However, he seems pleased with your reply, so you pluck up the courage to ask him a question of a more practical nature.

"By the way", you say in what you hope sounds like a casual manner, "do you know of any place here inside the Opera house where one might comfortably spend the night?"

"Of course, you are welcome to stay with me in the fifth cellar!" you want Erik to say, but he doesn't, to your great disappointment. Maybe he isn't ready for that just yet - you remind yourself that he probably has little to no experience when it comes to the fair sex. Instead, he points out to you that there is actually a rather nice couch in the dressing room where you had your lesson.

Following the fluorescent arrows to your dressing room (See? Aren't you glad I put them there?), you find that he is right. There is a fairly large couch, and the pillows are soft and inviting. You even find a warm blanket. Immediately, you start feeling sleepy, and you lie down to have a nap. Since the room doesn't have any windows there is no way to know what time of day it is. It was only afternoon when you entered the Opera house and you really haven't been there all that long, but for the sake of drama, let us assume that it is midnight now. As you doze off, you can vaguely hear the sound of music from behind the mirror. Someone is playing the organ.

"You mean Erik is playing the organ!", you say, snapping out of your sleep to correct me. "There is no need to be overly mysterious about it."

"Fine!" I say with some annoyance. "'As you doze off, you can vaguely hear the sound of music from behind the mirror. _Erik _is playing the organ.' Are you satisfied now?"

"Well, yes", you say. "But strictly speaking, I'm not really that sleepy anymore, and the music has stopped now."

"Really!" I yell in exasperation, "It's not that easy keeping up with the narrative when I'm interrupted all the time. Now go to sleep and let me tell this story!"

You lie down obediently and let me continue narrating. I may, after all, have something interesting to say. Almost as soon as your head touches the pillow, you are sound asleep. But it is not the kind of sleep you are used to in your ordinary life. You find yourself having an unusually vivid dream. It is, in fact, so vivid and realistic that you only know it is a dream because I say so. And even I'm not sure.

In the dream, you are in a dark and quiet space. Looking around, you can see nothing that indicates where you are or how you got there. You only know, or rather sense, that you are not alone. There is someone with you in the dark. Suddenly, you feel something soft against the back of your neck, a caress. Once, twice. Then whatever it is touches your cheek, your jaw, your hair. It feels like the finger of a gloved hand. At the same time, there is a sweet humming sound all around you, filling your ears, swallowing you.

Then you wake up with a start.

You are still in the dressing room, and everything is the same as before... no, not quite the same! The large mirror has moved slightly to one side, revealing a dark corridor behind it. And on the couch next to you, there is a sheet of paper which you know wasn't there before. You pick it up and read it. It says:

"ERIK WAS HERE."

Well, not literally, but it might just as well have said that. In reality, it is a piece of music - a song Erik must have just finished.

Erik wrote a song for you. You lucky thing!

Now, did he leave that mirror open by accident...?


	11. Chapter X: The Dark Passage And Beyond

**Chapter X: The Dark Passage And Beyond**

The mirror is open and you can vaguely discern the passage behind it. Your heart leaps with excitement. This is your chance to finally see Erik's lair! What are you waiting for?

"Wait a minute, Narrator!" you say suspiciously. "Why are you cheering me on like that? Don't think I'll go anywhere near that mirror until I know it isn't a trap! I'm not going to get myself Punjabed again."

"I was just trying to convey some enthusiasm here", I say, a little hurt. "But if you would rather have me write that you have suddenly lost all interest in Erik and decided to go home to your computer, that's fine with me!"

"No way!" you say. "It's just starting to get interesting. But I want to do this right."

You pause for a moment to reflect, with the song Erik wrote for you still in your hand. There is only one way to find out if he really meant to leave that mirror open. Well, there may be more than one way, but this is the one you think of first.

Carefully lighting a candle, you eye the piece of music with great interest. It is remarkably beautiful and clearly written especially for your vocal range. You sing a few tentative notes.

"By the way, you do know how to sightread music, don't you?" I say. "Of course you do!"

You now start singing the whole song from the beginning, softly at first and then with a full voice. Just to make sure Erik hears you, you stand in front of the mirror. Sure enough, just a few moments later, you hear wonderful sounds emerging through the dark passage. He is playing the organ again, accompanying you, guiding you through this wonderful piece of music he wrote for you. When you finally finish singing, the music continues, beckoning to you, intoxicating you, and the decision to follow where it leads is really out of your hands from this point on. You must go into that dark corridor, wherever it leads, whatever may come of it. There is no resisting those divine chords.

Even though you are entranced by the music, you luckily manage to keep enough of your head to bring the candle with you as you enter the passage. It is pitch black, cold and damp. As you move on, you have to be very careful not to fall, as the floor is slippery and uneven. It is a very narrow passage - if you stand in the middle of it you can easily reach both walls with your outstretched hands (that is, you could if you put down the candle first, which you don't).

Suddenly something soft and furry brushes against your leg and passes you from behind. In the faint candlelight, you see that it is a rat the size of a small dog. It stops just a few feet in front of you and stares at you with its mouth wide open, its huge front teeth shining white in the dark. The rat is apparently as surprised as you are by this unexpected meeting. It is a fairly young rat, a mere adolescent, and it has probably never seen a human before. Then, regaining its composure, it starts grooming itself. Having finished this procedure, it promptly walks away with dignity, heading home to write in its diary about this very special encounter. (The entry will start: "Tonight I fell in love.")

You keep walking and reach a steep flight of stairs. As you descend, you can hear the music growing stronger and even more irresistible. It has an almost magnetic quality, and you are drawn to it as if by an invisible force. The fact that you are dying to see Erik doesn't hurt, either. The more you hear of the music, the more you feel the urge to sing along with it, even though it is now quite different from the piece you started singing in the dressing room.

Opening your mouth, you sing a few notes, and then the sheer amazement almost makes you stop again. Is this your voice? It sounds so different from what you are used to down here - soaring and bouncing through the stone walls of the empty cellars and corridors. And there is something else, too. As your voice merges with the powerful sounds of the organ, it seems to take on some of that strength and resonance. Your voice is like a force of nature. You have read of people breaking glass with the sheer force of their voices, and now you begin to understand how that could be possible. Only right now it feels like the sounds emanating from your own throat could do much more than that - you wouldn't be surprised if they could challenge and break the very laws of nature. The thought makes your head spin.

Then, suddenly, you are in darkness. You have dropped the candle and it has gone out. Feeling your way, you continue down the stairs. Down, down, further down. Surely, you must be in the fifth cellar by now?

At last, you find yourself at the bottom of the staircase. Peering through the darkness, you think you see a faint light in the distance. You follow it, walking slowly and feeling your way with your hands. One step, then another, then...

"Watch out!" I yell.

But it is too late. You have fallen into the lake.

The water is cold, and you cry out for help. Unable to see, and with the uncomfortable feeling that something is stuck around your feet, mercilessly drawing you underneath the surface, you panic. All you can think about is that you need to stay afloat, but whatever it is that has locked itself around your ankles is pulling you down. You struggle and try to cry out again, but this time your mouth is filled with cold water when you open it. Slowly, you feel yourself losing consciousness. Maybe this is it. Maybe you will die here in the lake underneath the Opera, without even having seen Erik's famous lair.

The last thing you are aware of before everything becomes black, that is, even blacker than before, is that you are suddenly embraced by a pair of thin, strong arms, just as cold as the water of the lake. But that might just be the last hallucinations of a dying brain - what do I know?

Well, in fact, I _do_ know. But I'm not telling until next chapter.


	12. Chapter XI: In The Lair

**Chapter XI: In The Lair**

"Narrator, am I dead?"

This is your first thought as the fog slowly lifts from your mind.

"Well, what do you think?" I say. "Does this look like Heaven to you?"

You open your eyes and try to focus your gaze. You seem to be lying on a large bed with soft velvet covers. The room is beautifully furnished and lit with numerous candles, but there are no windows. In a corner, a tall, cloaked figure wearing a white mask is standing, observing you intently. Erik!

"Oh yes...!" you reply. "Now I know I'm in paradise!"

Hearing the sound of your voice, Erik approaches you.

"Oh, good, you're alive", he says matter-of-factly. "You happened to fall into one of my traps in the lake. I have constructed so many of them I sometimes forget where they are. I am sorry, it was truly not my intention to harm you this time. I had to administer artificial respiration, as you had stopped breathing, and I am glad to see it worked. It was, you see, the first time I had reason to try to bring somebody back to life."

"Erik resuscitated me?" you ask in an aside to me. "With the mouth-to-mouth method?"

"Don't get excited!" I say. "He did nothing of the kind."

"But he just said..."

"He was referring to the Silvester method, which was in use in the 19th century. It means he laid you on your back, then alternately raised your arms above your head and pressed them onto your chest."

"Oh, _now_ you've bothered to do the research, have you?" you say, ironically. "Just because it means you can deprive me of my first kiss with Erik."

"Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation doesn't exactly qualify as a kiss", I object. "But if you're patient and play your cards right, you might get to the real thing in due time."

"Is that a promise?" you say, grinning.

"No", I answer. "Just a hint."

Erik looks at you in utter confusion. Of course, he has only heard your part of this conversation, and it makes no sense to him. The only thing he manages to deduce is that for some reason you would have liked to be kissed by him, a fact which puzzles him even more. He suspects you might be delirious.

"Mademoiselle, how are you feeling?" he says. "It may be that you are not yet ready to learn what happened. My sincere apologies!"

"Not at all!" you say. "I am perfectly all right now... that is, I am still feeling very weak..."

You are, in fact, completely recovered from your close encounter with death (fictional near drowning is, on the whole, much less troubling than the real thing), but you jump at the opportunity to fake a prolonged convalescence in order to stay where you are.

"Of course, of course..." Erik says.

Then, as if he's just thought of something clever, he adds:

"Perhaps you would like some dry clothes?"

Surprised, you look down on your body. Your dress is still dripping wet with water from the lake, and the bedcovers are starting to get soaked, as well.

"That might be a good idea", you say.

In an instant, Erik is gone. You hear the sound of a door slamming shut. Slowly, you rise to your feet and walk around the room, investigating all the furniture and little objects. Everything is very neat and tasteful. Erik obviously takes great pride in his home. The only thing that puzzles you is why he would have what must essentially be a guest room. After all, this can't be his own bedroom, since there is no coffin. You wouldn't expect him to have any visitors, so why this room? Why this large beautiful bed?

Another sound of a door slamming interrupts your thoughts. Erik must be back already. You hurry to the bed and lie down, trying to look frail. He enters the room not five seconds later.

"I regret that I could not find any proper clothes", he says. "It is somewhat difficult given the late hour. However, I hope this will do for now."

He hands you a dress, which you immediately recognize as one of the stage costumes from the performance you saw at the Opera a while ago. It is not something you would normally be seen dead in, but under the circumstances, it will have to do. You thank Erik and he tactfully withdraws to let you change.

Having put on your new hideous but dry outfit, you slowly open the door to join Erik in the next room. This is obviously the living-room, you muse. Erik is sitting in an armchair, apparently waiting for you. As you enter, he looks at you awkwardly.

"Oh, good", he says.

He is clearly not used to having house guests.

"Thank you for saving my life, Erik", you say sweetly, "and for bringing me here. I take it this is your home?"

"Yes", Erik confirms, not without some pride. "This is the home I have built for myself, in the fifth cellar of the Opera house. It is a very good place for working."

"It is amazing", you say, and you mean it.

Erik looks around with satisfaction.

"Come and see my books", he says, leading you to a large bookshelf.

There are many beautiful volumes, bound in leather. All the classics of literature are there, most of which I haven't read, so I won't comment any more on them. But I am sure Erik will be happy to lend them to you if you are really interested.

"And here are my musical instruments", he continues. It seems as if he's starting to enjoy playing the host.

He shows you into yet another room. The pipe organ you heard him play earlier is here, and several other instruments are lying about - a violin, a flute, a clarinet, a French horn, and so on and so forth. There is also a huge pile of sheet music.

"My compositions", Erik explains, caressing the top sheet lovingly. "Most of them have never been performed."

"How sad", you say. "If they are all as wonderful as the song you wrote for me, it is really a pity nobody can hear them."

"They are all fools!" Erik says, with sudden vehemence. "Most of them wouldn't know good music if they heard it."

A brooding silence suddenly takes hold of him, as he apparently muses on the stupidity and injustice of the world. You find it best not to interrupt his thoughts. After a while, Erik seems to wake up and remember his new role.

"But I must have exhausted you!" he says. "Do you need to rest? Are you hungry? I tend to forget about these things, I so seldom eat or sleep myself, but I gather it's the kind of thing most people usually find agreeable. Don't they?"

You confirm that eating and sleeping can sometimes be very agreeable. Erik promptly offers you a fine meal which he must have prepared (stolen?) while he was out finding you a costume. He himself eats nothing, but seems to find it very interesting to watch you eat. You feel rather uncomfortable about that, wondering if you are doing something wrong according to the table manners of the day. But in all probability this is just Erik being eccentric, you reassure yourself.

"You are feeling better?" Erik asks after you have finished your meal.

"A little", you say, making sure that you don't appear _too_ strong.

"That is good", Erik says, "because if you are fit enough to sing I thought we might work on a new piece of music I am currently composing. I believe it will do wonders with your voice."


	13. XII: Way To Go, You're Still In The Lair

**Chapter XII: Way To Go, You're Still In The Lair**

As you move to the organ, it strikes you that music really is the only area in life where Erik seems truly in his proper element. Well, that, and constructing death traps. Socially, however, he's a complete misfit.

"A _charming _misfit", you correct me.

"Fine", I say, "if you choose to see it that way. He's nearly killed you twice, and terrorizes the whole Opera house unseen, simply because he can. And yet, when you come face to face with him he acts like an awkward five-year old showing off his toys to some new playmate. You are quite lucky he remembered to feed you!"

"Well, it wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't!" you say triumphantly. "You promised me yourself that I would never have to be hungry in this story if it wasn't relevant to the plot. Besides, I don't usually eat at this time of night - I only tasted the food not to hurt Erik's feelings, after all the trouble he took getting it for me!"

For a short while, I am at a loss for words (not for long, however, or we wouldn't have a story).

"All right", I say. "Maybe I was a little harsh in my judgment of Erik's character just now."

"Yeah", you agree, "especially since you are the one who wrote him like that in the first place!"

"Oh, I suppose he was quite the epitome of normalcy in Leroux' novel", I say, sarcastically.

"Mademoiselle Reader?" Erik interrupts. "Are you ready to sing, or is your mind elsewhere tonight?"

You demonstratively turn towards Erik, abruptly ending this inner dialogue with your Narrator.

"Yes, Erik", you say, "I would very much like to sing now."

"Then have a look at this song", he says. "It is almost finished. Would you care to try the first few pages?"

Erik starts playing the introduction on the organ. His thin, gloved hands fly across the keys with remarkable speed, and his eyes are following the music with intense concentration. You start to sing, and are amazed that the sounds coming from your throat are equally impressive now as before your little accident in the lake. The composer seems pleased, too, letting you sing the whole thing without interrupting you. Then, finally, he turns towards you.

"You have already improved greatly, Mademoiselle", he says. "Now, how do you like the song?"

"It's beautiful", you say.

"You don't find the ending too abrupt?"

"Well...", you say, not really knowing what answer Erik might be looking for, "do you have another ending in mind?"

"I was considering doing something like this..." he says, playing a few notes and humming the melody.

"I like that!" you say, smiling.

Erik smiles too. Of course, you can't see it because he is wearing his mask, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

"I thought you might", he says. "Let us try again, from the beginning!"

You sing the song again, sometimes interrupted by little comments from Erik, but on the whole he seems pleased. When you have finished, he says:

"Mademoiselle, I think you may be ready for the stage sooner than you think!"

"Really?" you say, breathlessly.

"Yes, indeed", he continues. "A few more weeks of disciplined practice and you are ready to take the place of our current leading lady. They are staging a new production of Faust, and you will sing as Marguerite on the opening night!"

"But how?" you ask. "The managers wouldn't even give me a part in the chorus."

"My dear", Erik says knowingly, "there are the traditional ways of getting a part. These include sleeping with the managers, having rich relatives who support the Opera financially, and last and most uncommonly, actually knowing how to sing and showing it at an audition, where none of the competitors meet the previous two requirements. We, however, will take an untraditional path to our goal. The less you know about it, the better it will be for you. All you need to do is prepare, and be ready when the time comes."

You are filled with joy at this news. However, there is one small thing that is nagging at the back of your mind...

"No, there isn't!" you object. "Don't spoil this moment for me!"

"Come now," I say, "admit that you are having some doubts. You can tell me, I'm the Narrator!"

"Well", you admit, reluctantly, "I was wondering if this untraditional way to get the lead somehow involves committing a serious crime."

"Don't worry about it", I say, "you won't have to break the law!"

"Well, that's a relief!" you say. "The way Erik was speaking, I almost thought his plan involved kidnapping or murder or blackmail or something like that!"

"As I said", I repeat, "_you _won't have to break the law..."

You are not quite reassured by this reply, but decide that Erik is probably right in that you are better off not knowing the details about how you will get the part. It's difficult enough to memorize an entire French opera in a matter of weeks, without having to think about the moral aspect of things. Besides, you tell yourself, it's all fiction anyway, so even if the worst should happen, there is really no harm done...

"Careful!" I warn you. "Remember you need to suspend disbelief! If you start thinking too realistically, the story will dissolve and all our efforts will be in vain."

Snapping out of your sudden fit of rational thinking, you look at Erik. It's hard to imagine he isn't real when he's sitting by the organ not three feet away from you. In order to get back into the world of the story, you reach out a hand to touch him. Erik, misreading your intention, leaps backwards violently.

"Don't touch my mask!" he roars. "Don't ever touch my mask or you will regret it!"

"I am sorry, Erik", you say. "I didn't mean to."

Erik looks confused.

"You mean you don't want to know what's behind this?"

He points at his mask. You shake your head vigorously. Well, of course you want to know, but you can't tell him that!

"Good", Erik says, somewhat pacified, "because what's behind this mask is not worth seeing. Now, I think our lesson is over for today."

Today? Wasn't it the middle of the night just a while ago? It seems that down here, where there is no daylight or anything else to indicate the passing of time, it is easy to become disoriented. It is also easy for me to make up the chronology as I go along, since you can't really do anything to prove me wrong as long as you are five floors below ground level without even a watch to look at. But as far as learning your part goes, you have nothing to worry about. It is true that the opening night is only a few weeks away, but I will not let that moment arrive until you know everything by heart. After all, I want you to triumph! So if you need a few extra hours to your days, or days to your weeks, just give me the word and I'll arrange it.

And no, sadly, I do not have such power outside of this story.


	14. Chapter XIII: Things Go Wrong

**Chapter XIII: Things Go Wrong**

A few weeks have passed since the end of Chapter XII. Of course, time is relative, and for you it may have felt much shorter. You have spent this time eating, breathing and sleeping music, your head filled at all hours with the opera Faust, in which Erik has promised you the lead. If I asked you now to describe any specific event during the past few days, I am sure you couldn't do it (then again, you could argue that's _my _job, not yours) - everything seems to float together into one blurry cloud of music lessons, singing, listening to Erik's voice, and, occasionally, reading something from his library during those rare occasions when you've had just about all you can take when it comes to French opera.

Today, however, will be different.

"Because you're back from your holidays now, or what, eh, Narrator?" you ask. "You have been very silent as of late."

"Well", I say, "I've been very busy, as a matter of fact. Besides, I thought you were doing very well practicing on your own with Erik. I don't suppose you would have liked me to be there to describe every time you've hit a wrong note during these last few weeks?"

You know I am right. Even though you are now an accomplished singer and could outshine the best of them, the road to success has sometimes been tough. Therefore, we will not speak of the time you nearly threw Marguerite's jewel aria into the fire after having been interrupted by Erik fifteen times only in the first six measures. We will not speak of the occasion when you had to interrupt your rehearsal session because of a severe case of the hiccups and Erik was offended because you let such a mundane thing disturb you, nor will we mention more than very sketchily the night when Erik attempted to wake you up at 3 a.m. and you pretended to stay asleep so you wouldn't have to get up and rehearse. But know that I was there, I saw everything, I just didn't write anything about it because it would make very tedious reading.

"So what's so special about today since you find it's worth writing about?" you ask.

"Go ask Erik and he will tell you", I say enigmatically.

You go into the music room, where Erik is sitting at his organ, playing. He looks up as you enter the room.

"Mademoiselle", he says, "I am glad you are here. Do you know what day it is today?"

"No", you say.

"It is the day before the opening night of Faust. We will have our final lesson now, and tomorrow, you will amaze all of Paris!"

Your heart leaps with joy! Tomorrow, you will become a star - an opera singer. It will be the greatest moment of your life so far.

"Erik, are you sure I'm ready for this?" you say. It is what you've been preparing for and anticipating, but the news is so sudden that you can't help feeling a little nervous.

"Let us see", he says, opening the score and starting to play the ouverture. "Think of this as the dress rehearsal you will never have."

He proceeds to guide you through the entire opera, playing through every scene in order, giving you stage directions which you carry out in the very limited space between the organ and the door. You have everything memorized by heart by now, and are free to give the music and the drama your full attention. Erik sings as well, taking on several other parts and switching between them effortlessly in a way which would be beyond the capability of most singers.

The entire opera takes several hours to run through. After the final chords are played, you are exhausted, as if you had just run a marathon. It takes quite a lot of stamina to make it through a whole opera. You look at Erik and he meets your gaze thoughtfully and without a word.

"Was it not good enough, Erik?" you ask anxiously.

"Yes", he answers, slowly. "It was good enough. It was better than anything you have ever done before. And I strongly suspect it was better than anything that has ever been performed by any of the amateurs on that stage. You are ready, Mademoiselle."

You are ready!

"Thank you, Erik!" you exclaim, full of joy and excitement. "This is all your doing. Thank you, thank you!"

Quite caught up in the moment, you lean towards his thin figure to give him an embrace. Erik, however, reacts by quickly and unexpectedly jerking his head backwards. He is not used to human contact and any sudden display of affection is more likely to frighten him than anything else.

"As well you should know", I add under my breath.

The outcome is the worst possible. While you were bending over Erik, a piece of broken lace from your sleeve has managed to get caught in the edge of his mask, and as he leaps back, before either of you know it, the mask is torn from his face in one rapid movement. For one horrible moment, you are face to face with Erik.

"You idiot, you should have been more careful!" I moan reproachfully. "This is a complete disaster! I can't be held responsible for what happens to you now. I wash my hands of you!"

You don't listen to me, as you are too busy staring at Erik's face. Now you understand exactly why he is hiding underneath the opera house, feared by everyone. It really is _that_ bad. You scream and turn away. There is no need for me to go into any details describing his face to you - that infernal death's head, that crimson mess of rotting flesh and bones, will haunt you in your dreams for the rest of your life. That is, if you ever get out of this alive.

Good luck, you're on your own now!


	15. Chapter XIV: And It Gets Worse

**Chapter XIV: And It Gets Worse**

"You can't look at me, can you? Can you?" Erik roars. "Well, you wanted to see, so now look!"

He grabs you fiercely by the hair and turns your head so that you are forced to see his face once again.

"Look!" he hisses at you menacingly. "Did I not tell you that what was behind the mask was not worth seeing? So why could you not leave it alone? Why did you have to tear it off anyway? Why?"

You are trembling, horrified at Erik's anger, and at the monstrous face you have before you. Gerard Butler's make-up in the movie was a mild sunburn compared to this. And the real Erik's face doesn't even have a handsome half to make up for it.

"I am sorry", you sob, "I didn't mean to rip your mask off. It was an accident, I swear. The lace..."

"Quiet!" Erik screams. "It's too late for excuses."

"Please, Erik, don't hurt me!" you plead. "I promise, I won't..."

"You won't what?" he snaps. "Look at my face again? I'm sure you would like that, wouldn't you? Well, you are not the one having to live with it! I helped you! I taught you how to capture the divine with your voice, and how do you repay me? By unleashing the Devil!"

"Erik, I am sorry", you say again. There isn't really much else to say at the moment. He obviously won't listen to any reasonable arguments.

"You are sorry?" Erik says, mockingly. "You are no different from the rest of humanity. You are repulsed. You are horrified. You are afraid that I will kill you. Those are the very same feelings I inspire in everyone I meet. Do not pretend that you have any sympathy for me."

"I..." you begin, but Erik will hear nothing of it.

"Go!" he yells with bitterness in his voice. "Flee while you can! Go back to your friend the Comte de Chagny and his little brother with the pretty face. I am sure you will find them much more pleasant company. Then you can tell them of your narrow escape from the Phantom of the Opera!"

"I would never..." you try, but to no avail.

"You are starting to try my patience!" Erik interrupts you. "If you value your life, I would strongly advise you to leave me alone, this very instant. Go!"

He is now roaring at the top of his lungs, and the sheer volume of sound is enough to make you back away. Sensing that he is indeed serious about this, and that no amount of tender words can rescue the situation, you move towards the front door. When you reach it, you hesitate for a moment, but one murderous glance from Erik is enough to make up your mind. You continue through the door and close it behind you. Looking around, you find yourself by the shore of the lake, and Erik's boat is there, just a few feet away, ready to take you back to safety. You breathe a sigh of relief. It seems unlikely you will get yourself killed today after all.

Then you hear it. A horrible, heart-wrenching sound from the room you just left. Erik is crying. His violent sobbing fills the air, and there is such grief, such endless despair in those sounds, that for a moment, you forget all your fears. All you want is to go back in there, to somehow make the crying stop, to let him know that you don't loathe him the way the rest of the world does. But it is too late. The door is locked.

You prepare to knock on the door, to call out his name, to do anything to make him let you in again, but you can't. Erik has started playing his organ, very loudly, blocking out all other sounds. The music he's playing seems to channel all the emotions he must be feeling at this moment - despair, abandonment, disappointment, sadness, and... love?

Love? There is love in that music. But love for whom? During all these long days when you have been singing together, he has never with a word or even a look revealed anything of his own inner life. His mask has been solid, impenetrable. He has been the Angel of Music, living only for his art and the art he has inspired in you. But he has never let you catch a glimpse of Erik, the man. Not until now. And now, sadly, it may be too late.

Reluctantly, you step into the boat and push it away from the shore. There is nothing you can do to reach Erik anymore. On the day before what was supposed to be your greatest triumph, everything has shattered around you.

The sound of the organ haunts you as you make your way across the dark waters of the lake. You call out to your Narrator to set things right again.

But the only reply you get is a really spooky echo.


	16. Chapter XV: Now What?

**Chapter XV: Now What?**

Back in your own dressing room, you finally have time to think about the situation. Even though it was not your intention to tear off Erik's mask, it happened. Maybe all of that random good fortune you've had so far is beginning to balance itself out. Now, you've made Erik furious and probably destroyed every chance you ever had of becoming an opera singer and wooing the Phantom in the process. There is a distinct possibility this story is ruined beyond all hope of salvation. For a brief moment, you consider abandoning it altogether, going back to your own time and your own computer and starting to check out some other fan fiction instead. But that is only for a moment. Then, you realize that that would be like throwing in the towel, giving up, admitting defeat. And you're not quite ready to do that just yet. Perhaps there is still time to give this story a satisfactory ending. But how?

You spend the night thinking it over, and when the morning comes, you have begun to form a plan. Tonight, you will perform as Marguerite in Faust, and regain Erik's trust in the process! But you will have to do it all by yourself, since neither the Phantom nor the Narrator would be willing to lift a finger to help you at present.

The first problem, of course, is getting rid of Carlotta, since she might otherwise object to you taking over her role. Probably for the first time ever, you find yourself thinking: "What would Erik do?". The answer is obvious. "Kill her." You are not 100% comfortable with this solution. At least, you decide to look into other options first.

Looking for ideas, you sneak away from your dressing room and head towards the stage. This takes quite some time, since _someone _has obviously amused herself by rearranging the architecture of the Opera house yet again just to spite you. When you finally find the large, as yet empty, stage, you turn your attention to the backstage area, or more specifically, the floor of the backstage area. Somewhere, you ponder, there has got to be a trapdoor you could use. After some searching, you discover a small trapdoor with the text "Beware: Plot hole" written on it in very fine print. Some additional investigation allows you to discover the mechanism which operates the door. This may prove very useful in time.

The next thing you do is try to find a suitable costume for tonight, since the dress you are now wearing is wet, torn and covered with dirt and dust from the cellars. The dress intended for Marguerite will be unavailable, for obvious reasons, so you will have to think of something else. After some rummaging through a box of discarded costumes from past productions, you find a dress once used by Papagena in the Magic Flute. It probably doesn't correspond with the director's vision of Marguerite, as it is bright green and covered in feathers, but since it is the only costume your size, it will have to do.

Finally, you have to think of a way to make Erik forgive you. After some consideration, you realize there is only one way: you have to give the perfect performance tonight, sing like an angel and amaze all of Paris, and then let him know that you sang for him and because of him. Music is the only thing that could reach him now. Nothing short of perfect beauty would comfort him enough to forgive you for what he perceives as an unforgivable sin - the sin of not bearing to see his face without turning away.

You spend the rest of the day in quiet concentration. Mentally, you run through the entire opera, making sure you know every note. You then rehearse every detail of your plan. The proverbial butterflies are starting to move around in your stomach. Tonight is going to be a very long night.

Which is why this has to be a very short chapter. You need time to focus.


	17. Chapter XVI: Your Big Night

**Chapter XVI: Your Big Night**

The evening of the opening of Faust has finally arrived. You have everything planned, and are standing hidden in the wings, waiting to act accordingly. In the auditorium, you can hear the crowd beginning to arrive, talking excitedly to each other in broken English. Backstage, everything is chaos. Dancers are running around looking for their shoes, stagehands are joking and drinking wine, singers are vocalizing, and everyone is looking over their shoulders nervously. Will this be a night free from those strange and unforeseen happenings usually blamed on the Phantom?

"Not likely!" you think to yourself smugly. Nobody knows it yet, but tonight _you _are the director.

A small dark-haired dancer whirls past you.

"Meg Giry!" you whisper from the darkness. She starts and turns around, but seems relieved when she sees you - a kind, poor lady in a torn and dirty dress.

"Can I help you?" she asks kindly. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, I'm afraid."

"I was just wondering if I could have a piece of bread and some water", you say feebly.

"I'll see what I can do", Meg smiles at you.

She seems nice. Under different circumstances, the two of you might have become good friends.

Meg leaves, and returns a few minutes later with a loaf of bread and a glass of water.

"Thank you ever so much, Mademoiselle!" you say. "God bless you! I was wondering if I could ask something else, but I'm sure it will be too much trouble..."

"Not at all!" Meg says, eagerly. She is feeling important now, as her mother has told her that good deeds are the fastest way to Heaven.

"I have always dreamed of meeting La Carlotta, the prima donna. Sometimes, I have sat outside the Opera in the cold street, hoping to hear some music from inside, and I have heard her singing. I just want to tell her in person how much I admire her. Could you please let me see her for a moment?"

"I'll try", Meg says kindly, "but she's warming up for the performance, so she might be too busy."

"Tell her..." you say hesitantly, sensing that you may need to add something more to lure Carlotta away from her scales, "tell her I'm family."

Meg looks at you curiously, but soon runs off to find Carlotta for you. She is evidently successful, as a short while later, the prima donna herself appears before you.

"Now, what is this?" she enquires. "The little Giry told me that there was someone from my family here to see me."

"She must have misunderstood", you lie. "I only said I was a big admirer of your art, Madame, and so is my family. I promised my dying father I would get an autograph and a greeting from you to him. Here..."

You take out a small piece of paper and a pencil and hold them out to Carlotta. At first, she seems annoyed, but then, her vanity takes over and she smiles at you condescendingly. She walks towards you to take the pencil and paper from you, and as she does so, passes over the trapdoor you discovered yesterday, just as you had planned. At the exact moment when she is standing on it, you press the button which opens the door, and Carlotta plunges through the hole into the darkness. The door closes again above her. You have no idea where that trapdoor leads, but you hope that whatever space Carlotta may find herself in now, it is soundproof.

Now, you have to act quickly. You move into a corner where you can change into your Papagena costume unseen, and then hide, waiting for the opera to begin. In the general confusion backstage, nobody seems to notice that Carlotta is missing. She probably keeps herself to herself before performances anyway, you reflect.

The noise from the auditorium is suddenly subdued. Then there is polite clapping, as the conductor, M. Reyer, makes his entrance. A few seconds of silence, and then the ouverture begins. The frantic movement in the wings stops, as everyone listens to the music and prepares for what lies ahead.

The first part of the opera passes smoothly. The only unexpected event is that Marguerite is supposed to make a silent appearance at her spinning wheel in a vision, but at that point, there is nobody there. You find it safer not to go on stage until you actually have to sing, in case someone sees that you are not Carlotta (which is very likely to happen given your costume). Instead, you hide until the very last possible moment, at which time people backstage are starting to notice that the prima donna is nowhere to be found.

Just a few measures before Marguerite's first notes, and in the midst of what is now a desperate search in the wings for the missing diva, you make your entrance on stage. And what an entrance it is! Nobody could possibly miss it. Your bright green dress gleams in the spotlight and some of the feathers (also bright green) fall off, so that you leave a colorful trail behind you on the stage floor. The entire chorus, the male lead, the audience, they all stare at you in disbelief. The conductor is about to fall off his podium, but you nod at him reassuringly.

As you stand there, waiting for your cue, someone in the audience laughs. Others start hissing and booing (probably Carlotta's fans), and there are some agitated whispers from the wings. The whole auditorium is tense and ready to explode at this threat of an imminent scandal. You quietly wonder what you have got yourself into, but now, there is no turning back. You take a deep breath and sing your very first few notes on the stage of the Paris Opera.

And then, everything changes. The laughter stops immediately, and the hissing subsides. Everything around you is dead quiet, except for that voice, your voice, filling the room with sounds of perfect and absolute beauty. It takes you no more than two sung phrases to know that you have turned the situation around. Before the night is over, you will have all of Paris at your feet!

In the short interval between Act I and Act II, you are approached by a number of cast members, asking you questions about who you are and where Carlotta is. This time, you are prepared to answer.

"My name is Angelique-Céléstine Reader", you say proudly. "I am a soprano from the London Opera, and I happened to be here on holidays when I received a letter from your managers this afternoon. They told me that La Carlotta had suddenly taken ill, and asked me if I could sing tonight in her place. And since I have Marguerite on my repertoire, naturally I agreed. It is a sad thing to have to cancel an opening night."

Some of the cast members seem convinced by this explanation, others, not so much. But it really doesn't matter, as they need someone to sing the female lead tonight, and Carlotta is obviously not available. Therefore, they leave you alone and ask you no more questions. You, on your part, find it wise to hide away in a dark corner until the next act begins, in case the managers should show up and expose your lie.

The rest of the evening is a complete and utter triumph for you. You are greeted with cheers and standing ovations after your virtuosic Jewel aria, and by the final act, nobody cares anymore that you are not La Carlotta, or that you are dressed up like an oversized parrot. All they know is that you are the best soprano ever to sing the role of Marguerite on that stage.

At the end of the opera, you have the audience eating out of your hand. They love you, and they show it. Now you only have the final scene left, the scene where Marguerite invokes the angels to carry her with them to Heaven. You start singing, but as you do so, you happen to look up towards Box Five and catch a glimpse of something white. Erik is there, listening to you! From that moment on, you turn towards him, singing only for him. You ask your own, very personal Angel, to carry you off to heaven, and to forgive your sins, just like Christine did in the novel (and just like it happened in the 1990 miniseries, minus the dubbed operatic voices). Hopefully, being a clever man, Erik will understand the blatantly obvious subtext.

The opera ends, and at once, the audience is standing up, clapping and cheering with deafening intensity. You are called back to take a bow no less than twenty times. People are throwing flowers at you, and you graciously pick them up, waving and smiling at your admirers. Tonight, you are a star!

Then, suddenly, a single red rose lands at your feet. Picking it up, you see that there is a white ribbon attached to it. However, when you examine it more closely, you see that it is, in fact, a piece of lace. And not just any lace: it is the broken lace that got stuck on Erik's mask, causing that fateful moment yesterday. It, too, must have been torn off by his sudden unexpected movement. And now... and now, if Erik found it lying on the floor next to his organ after you left, then he may have realized that his rage was unjustified...

You look at the rose. It is beautiful, and it has the most wonderful scent. Trying to catch one more glimpse of Erik, you let your eyes wander once again to Box Five.

However, it is empty.


	18. Chapter XVII: Mlle Reader Triumphant

**Chapter XVII: Mlle Reader Triumphant**

As you try to make your way back to your dressing room, you can hardly move for all the people waiting to congratulate you. Your fellow singers praise your extraordinary talent, sounding more than a little envious, whereas the dancers and stagehands seem genuinely excited and thank you for saving the performance on such short notice. Only little Meg Giry seems perplexed, as she can't help but wonder how the poor beggar woman she gave a loaf of bread ended up center stage as the leading lady. However, she is too confused by all this to voice her concerns.

Soon, you spot the managers, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny, coming towards you. Your first instinct is to run away, but you can tell from the thrilled expression on their faces that they are not out to get you.

"Mlle Reader!" M. Poligny says. "What a triumph! I cannot begin to imagine what Carlotta's excuse might be for abandoning us on an opening night, but I am sure there was not one person in the audience who was disappointed. You really showed us all something quite unique tonight, Mademoiselle! I speak for both M. Debienne and myself when I say that we are ashamed that we could let such remarkable talent pass unnoticed the last time we met. Please accept our sincere apologies!"

"Thank you", you say gracefully. "I am only glad you enjoyed my performance."

"Enjoyed!" M. Debienne says. "We were dumbfounded! I hope, Mademoiselle, that you will consider accepting a position at the opera."

"In the chorus?" you say, raising one eyebrow.

"Of course not!" M. Debienne replies emphatically. "Nothing less that the position of leading lady would be appropriate."

"What about Carlotta?" you ask.

"She is past her prime", M. Poligny says, lowering his voice confidentially. "The public wants a new prima donna to worship. She is a very good singer, but her star has been fading for some time."

"In that case", you say with dignity, "yes, I will consider the offer. Of course I have to think about it first, I can't give you an answer tonight..."

"Of course, of course", the managers say. "Please let us know when you have decided."

"Mademoiselle Reader, I can hardly believe it!"

A cheerful man's voice interrupts your conversation with the managers. It is the Comte Philippe de Chagny, and his brother Raoul is standing right next to him, looking at you with newly awakened interest.

"Your singing tonight was divine, simply divine!" Philippe says enthusiastically. "I would never have expected you to possess such an extraordinary gift!"

"You were fantastic, Mademoiselle", Raoul says, almost shyly. "Indeed..."

He seems at a loss for words and looks away awkwardly. For once, it seems that Christine is not the only woman on his mind.

"Would you care to join us for a celebratory dinner?" Philippe continues. "It would be a great honor for both of us."

"Thank you", you say sweetly, "but I already have plans for the evening. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get changed."

Philippe looks down at your bird-like costume, and as you leave the de Chagny brothers, you hear them engaged in an animated discussion about your dress.

"Remarkable choice of costume", Raoul comments.

"It is these young, modern directors", Philippe says doubtfully. "They have all kinds of new ideas. Perhaps it is symbolic..."

You can't hear the rest of the conversation, as you have now reached your dressing room (which is, amazingly, exactly where you left it). With a sigh of relief, you go inside and close the door firmly behind you.

"Brava, Mademoiselle!" a voice greets you.

Erik?

No such luck. It is only me.

"Narrator!" you exclaim with some surprise. "So, does this mean we are back on speaking terms?"

"It is true that I was a little upset with you earlier", I say. "I thought it was extremely clumsy of you to tear off Erik's mask the way you did. But in retrospect, I have to admit that it made for some good drama."

"I'm glad you see it that way", you say. "I had almost started to miss your annoying comments. _Almost_."

"Not as much as I missed making them", I admit. "I had told myself I wouldn't be your guide anymore, and yet I had to bite my tongue several times over the last few chapters not to interfere with the action. I guess I'm not very good at playing the objective narrator."

"Nonsense, you are a wonderful narrator", you say, trying to comfort me.

"Well, you know, I do my best..." I reply, with mock modesty.

Things are back to normal.

"Now", I say, eager to make up for my previous indifference to you, "is there anything you need?"

"A new decent-looking dress would be nice", you say. "I am thinking of trying to get back into Erik's favor."

"Consider it done!" I say majestically.

You look at yourself in the large mirror. The Papagena costume is gone. Instead, you find yourself wearing a beautiful black dress, rather low-cut and tight around the waist.

"You don't think it's too revealing, do you?" I ask.

"No way!" you say confidently. "I'm going in for the kill."

"Good for you!" I exclaim. "That's the kind of determination I like. It helps keep the pace up, you know. A few more chapters of that and who knows what might happen?"

"I would assume _you_ know what might happen, Narrator!" you say, slyly. "So come on, do tell!"

"What would be the fun in that?" I object. "I suppose you are one of those people who always read the last few pages before buying a new book, aren't you? I'm trying to build some anticipation here, but do you appreciate it? No, of course not! It's like throwing pearls before swine. I don't know why I bother sometimes..."

You laugh.

Things are indeed back to normal, for better or worse.


	19. Chapter XVIII: Going In for the Kill

**Chapter XVIII: Going In for the Kill**

Now that you are dressed for success, you quickly make your way down the passage behind the mirror, heading for Erik's lair with determined steps. The reason you are able to do this is that I have generously (and quite anachronistically) provided you with a battery-driven pocket flashlight, which really comes in handy at a time like this.

"If you were not intending to stay within the technical constraints of the time period anyway, you might have indicated that sooner!" you remark. "There are lots of things from my own time I could have used in this story."

"I didn't want to spoil the mood", I defend myself. "You have to admit it would be much less cozy to have you racing down the streets of 19th century Paris in a Jaguar, or running around taking photos of the Opera house with your cell phone."

"So why do you change your mind now?" you ask.

"I think it's a minor detail, quite irrelevant to the plot, don't you?" I say. "Besides, I want to show you something, and candlelight just won't do."

You are now halfway down the passage. It is still cold and damp, but considerably lighter than the last time you were here. There doesn't really appear to be anything to see here.

"Look closer", I urge you. "Examine the wall to your left, just a few inches above the floor."

You do as I tell you, and to your great surprise there is something there. Someone has drawn a neat little heart on the wall, presumably with chalk. It appears to have been done quite recently. Inside the heart there are two letters, R and W.

"What does that mean?" you say.

"The R stands for 'Reader', of course", I answer. "The W means 'Werther'".

"Werther? Surely, there is no Werther in this story. It's a German name."

Two small eyes gleam in the darkness, just outside the reach of your flashlight. You only see them for a moment, then, with a faint rustling sound, they are gone.

"Was that..." you begin.

"Yes", I say. "Werther is the name of your friend the lovesick rat from Chapter X. His mother was a great admirer of Goethe."

You smile, finding the little animal's shy display of affection quite touching.

"Thank you, Werther", you say, "that was very sweet of you."

You receive no reply of any kind (the rat is a little embarrassed), so you continue towards the steep flight of stairs leading down to the fifth cellar. This time, you descend with confidence. After all, Erik has shown you, by giving you that rose, that he is willing to forgive you.

When you reach the bottom of the staircase, you direct your flashlight towards the lake. Luckily, the boat is lying there, waiting for you. As you step into it and start making your way towards the other shore, you are greeted by sudden loud organ chords. Erik has started playing again. This time, the music is painful, desperate, passionate...

"I'm coming, Erik", you whisper. "Please, give me another chance."

The boat is moving quickly and without a sound, as if it, too, longs to be back where it belongs. The truth is I don't want to waste time describing a boring boat journey when there are much more important things about to happen. See, now you've already reached the other side of the lake and you find yourself standing outside Erik's door. It is slightly ajar - he must be waiting for you. You enter quietly, suddenly a little nervous. What if he is still angry, after all?

The music is even louder now. Taking a few more steps into Erik's lair, you see him sitting at the organ, his back turned towards you. Slowly, as if walking on thin ice, you approach him. When you are almost next to him, you speak, in a soft voice:

"Erik."

He gives a start and stops playing around tentatively, he looks at you.

"Mademoiselle Reader", he says quietly, "I wasn't sure whether or not you would return."

"Of course I returned", you say, smiling. "You are the reason I triumphed tonight. And the rose..."

"I have never been taught the proper way to deliver an apology", Erik explains. "It is not a skill I have ever found myself needing before now. But I am sorry that I frightened you. I am sorry that you had to see what you saw, and I do realize that you meant no harm. Thank you for coming here tonight to see me again - it must have taken a lot of courage."

"No", you say. "I am not afraid of you, or your face. Not anymore."

Erik looks at you skeptically. You continue. It's now or never.

"Erik", you say, "you can't possibly know how much you have influenced my life, not only tonight, but ever since I first came to know you, long ago. You have been on my mind countless times, and your sad fate has touched me deeper than I can explain. It is not right that such genius should be hidden from the world, simply because it looks unappealing on the surface."

"You pity me", Erik says with some contempt.

"No, Erik", you say. "It's not pity that I feel for you. Indeed, in a more enlightened time and place nobody would pity you. Everybody would admire you and respect you, as I do, and love you... as I do."

There, you've said it. You used the big word. Erik stares at you in disbelief. His whole body is shivering. With a trembling hand, he readjusts his mask, almost automatically.

"You can't love _this_", he says, pointing bitterly towards his face.

"That is not you", you say. "Your voice, your music, your kindness, your power, your mysterious allure, your evil sense of humor... that is you. This is you!"

You make an eloquent gesture towards the organ, where the score of a new composition is standing. This must be what Erik was playing just now. His eyes gleam with pride when you mention his music - he is more comfortable talking about that than about your feelings.

"It's an opera I'm working on", he explains, "and the closest to absolute beauty I will ever come. It's about love, and lust, and passion. I am planning on calling it Don Juan."

"Then why not call it Don Juan Triumphant?" you suggest. "Because I would like to think love always triumphs in the end."

"It does?" Erik says with a hint of irony. "I would have thought the opposite was more likely."

"Not in my stories", you say, smiling. "Won't you play something from the opera for me?"

Erik turns a few pages, almost nervously, then starts playing a haunting melody. It is the introduction of a duet from the opera, to be sung by Don Juan and the girl he is seducing. Your heart leaps with anticipation. This is promising, very promising indeed! Could this be Erik's roundabout way of coming on to you?

"Wishful thinking!" I say teasingly in your ear.

But I soon have to admit that there may be some truth to your assumption. When Erik starts singing, it is with the voice of a passionate lover. The melody is not quite The Point of No Return (since Erik didn't compose that, Lloyd Webber did), but it is nevertheless a valid parallel. When it's your turn to start singing, you answer him in the same manner, and finally, your voices mix and merge in a way I can't describe without changing the rating of this story.

At the very peak of musical intensity, you turn towards Erik and, still singing, gently caress his mask with the palm of your hand. The mask feels cool and soft against your fingers. Erik looks at you with fear in his eyes, but you smile at him reassuringly. Then, slowly, lovingly, deliberately, you start to remove his mask. As if paralyzed, Erik stops playing and simply looks at you, pleadingly.

If I were visible I would look at you pleadingly too, because this really seems like a bad idea. You shouldn't be doing this. Seriously, I mean that. It goes against all common sense. Erik will kill you for this. But no, you just have to keep going, don't you?

With the mask in your hand, you pause for a moment, leaning in closer to Erik. Then you drop the mask to the floor and look straight at his horrible disfigured face. He has tears running down his cheeks, and you are struggling not to cry, too. This is the moment you've been waiting for since you agreed to take part in this story - your chance to heal Erik and redeem him through love. You bend towards him and plant a big wet kiss on his lips. After all, it worked for Christine in the original.

And, amazingly, it works for you. You can feel Erik tensing up, quite overwhelmed, but he doesn't resist your touch.

"This face of yours", you say to Erik, looking firmly at him without turning away, "is just another mask."

Erik then breaks down sobbing like a child. This is the first time anyone has ever reached out to him this way. You embrace him tightly, and he lets you. The two of you sit like that for a long time, without speaking a word. Finally, when the tears have subsided, Erik lifts his head and looks at you earnestly.

"Thank you", he says.

Then he kisses you. A warm, full, passionate kiss - the end of a lifetime of longing and loneliness.

"Erik, I love you", you say.

Smiling, he rises and offers you his hand. You take it and he chivalrously leads you away from the organ and into the room you occupied when you last stayed in his lair. Yes, the room with the large bed.

And that, dear Reader, is my cue to tactfully withdraw. I may be intrusive at times, but even I understand that there are occasions in life when privacy is preferred. As for the ending of this chapter, I leave it to your own dirty imagination.


	20. Note to the Reader

**Note to the Reader**

Dear Reader,

At this pivotal point in our little story I would like to take the opportunity to write a few words to you, while you are in the lair with Erik doing God knows what.

As you may have realized, we are approaching the end of the story. You have had your triumphant night in the spotlight. You have won Erik's affection at last. Now, all that's really left for me to do is tying up some loose ends and bringing the story to an appropriate close. The problem is, I am extremely indecisive regarding how the story should end - I can think of no less than three different endings, and I can't for the life of me decide which one I like better. So, there is really only one solution: I will offer you all the endings, and you may choose the one which suits you best, depending on your mood and disposition. If you don't like any of them, please feel free to make one up yourself!

Thus, there are three different versions of the final chapter - The Good, Bad and Ugly Ending. The Good Ending should be satisfactory if you prefer a happy ending, the kind that leaves you with a warm and fuzzy feeling and no discomfort. If you prefer an ending with more drama and conflict, but without a "happily-ever-after", I recommend you to look into The Bad Ending. The Ugly Ending is just plain weird and tasteless, and I would strongly advise you _not_ to read it.

Enjoy the final chapter of your story!

You obedient servant,

The Reliable Narrator


	21. Chapter XIXa: The Good Ending

**Chapter XIXa: The Good Ending**

It is the next morning. When you wake up, you find yourself still in Erik's arms, and you blissfully recall the previous night.

"Erik, that was wonderful!" you say, smiling. "I love you so much."

Erik, already awake, turns to you tenderly.

"I love you too, Angelique-Céléstine Reader", he says, stressing every syllable.

You laugh softly.

"That's not really my name", you say.

"I would never have guessed", Erik says, looking at you in mock surprise. "What is your name, then?"

Leaning closer towards Erik, you softly whisper your name, your real name, in his ear. He smiles at you.

"That is a very beautiful name", he says. "I am glad you told me."

"Why?" you ask.

"Because it is a little strange doing this to an alias."

He kisses you gently on the lips.

"And", he continues, "it would feel very awkward indeed doing this to an alias..."

While he speaks, he rises and gets out of the large bed both of you have been sleeping in. He walks over to a cupboard, opens a drawer and takes out a small black box. Then, box in hand, he returns to the bed and kneels before you.

"My dearest", he says with a trembling voice, "you have done more for me than you can ever imagine. You have taught me that there is kindness in this world, and love, and beauty. You have stirred up emotions in me which I never knew existed. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

He opens the box to reveal a beautiful gold ring with a large sparkling diamond.

"Oh, Erik", you say, "I am quite overwhelmed. This is so unexpected..."

"You little hypocrite!" I comment in your ear.

"Shut up!" you hiss angrily.

"I beg your pardon?" Erik says, looking hurt and confused.

"I'm sorry, Erik", you say hurriedly, "I wasn't speaking to you."

He now looks a little less hurt, but infinitely more confused. You take his hands and lean towards him, gazing into his eyes earnestly.

"Of course I will marry you", you say. "It would make me the happiest woman alive."

Erik breathes a sigh of relief. With shaking hands, he removes the ring from the box and puts it on your finger. You can see that there are tears in his eyes. The sight fills you with an irresistible urge to take him into your arms. You embrace him, and this time, he responds by putting his arms around you and holding you tightly for quite a while.

"I will buy us a house, of course", Erik then says, in the voice of an excited child, "and we will go for long walks on Sundays, and we will have a horse and carriage..."

"Erik, wait", you interrupt him, "there is something I need to tell you. Something important."

"What is it, my darling?" Erik asks.

You take a deep breath. This will take some explaining.

"The truth is", you say, "I am not from this time. I am from the future, from the 21st century. And I don't know how long I can stay here."

You're right, we never did discuss that. But since this is the last chapter, that ought to give you some indication.

Erik doesn't seem half as surprised as you had expected him to be. You remember that he is, in fact, a technical genius as well as a musical one, and it would make perfect sense to him that in a few hundred years, people could be traveling through time. He simply nods calmly.

"Is it very different from now, your century?" he asks.

"In some ways", you say. "But in other ways, it's just the same."

"And you like it? You want to go home?"

"I suppose I must", you say, hesitantly. "And I do have my whole life there..."

"In that case", Erik says, "I should very much like to be a part of that life. If you want me to."

"Of course I do!" you exclaim, then whisper inwardly to me, "Narrator, may I keep him?"

"Sure," I answer, "why not? Let's go then, shall we?"

The next instant, you hear a sudden loud BANG, and Erik's lair is gone.

When you regain consciousness, you are back in your own room, in front of your computer. To your great disappointment, you are alone.

"Narrator!" you call out. "What's going on? Where is Erik?"

I appear magically before you. You know it's me, because you recognize me from Chapter I.

"I have no idea", I say. "The two of you should have arrived at the same time, give or take a few minutes."

Then you hear someone coming out of the bathroom. It is Erik, soaking wet and wrapped in one of your towels. He is adjusting his mask.

"I must say that science has made some progress in the past century", he says. "This water contrivance is both useful and comfortable."

You are hoping he means the shower.

"Erik!" you say. "Are you all right?"

"Yes", he says, "but it seems the mask was the only article of clothing which survived the journey."

"You don't have to wear that for my sake", you say, smiling at him.

"Maybe not", Erik says, "but it is easier on the eye, both for you and for the rest of the world."

He throws a significant glance at me.

"Erik", you say, "may I introduce you to the Narrator? She has been with me all along in Paris, and I'm sure your face doesn't bother her any more than it does me."

"So that is the invisible friend you have been talking with", Erik says, nodding his head. "Well, I don't know how she managed to conceal herself if she was really present all the time, but I do appreciate a good fellow magician."

Erik bows towards me. I smile at him triumphantly.

"I can make more magic!" I say, enjoying my moment in the spotlight. "Just put me to the test!"

"Can you conjure up some new clothes?" Erik asks doubtfully.

"Voilà!" I say, pointing at him. Immediately, his towel is transformed into a modern black suit. Erik looks down at his own body in amazement.

"Very impressive..." he murmurs to himself.

Suddenly, you get an idea. You remember another piece of magic I performed on you in the beginning of this story.

"Narrator", you whisper to me, "if you can transform my towel into clothes for Erik, and if you could improve that part of my body I wasn't happy with in Chapter I, couldn't you heal Erik's face, too?"

"Nineteen chapters, and you only thought of that _now," _I say. "I have been waiting for you to figure it out. Well, better late than never, I suppose. Consider it done!"

With a very dramatic gesture I learnt on TV, I point towards Erik's mask. Nothing happens, apparently - the mask is still there. But you trust my abilities (you do, don't you?).

"Erik", you say, "please remove your mask!"

Erik stiffens.

"I would rather not take it off any more than necessary", he objects.

"In that case", you say, "let me do it!"

You walk towards Erik and rip off his mask before he has time to react. The face looking back at you takes your breath away. It is Erik's face, definitely his face. The eyes are his, the expression is his, the shape of the face, the bone structure, the jaws... and yet, his skin is smooth and healthy, the nose no longer deformed, and the lips even and well defined. It is a very handsome face. And you can imagine that it is the face Erik was always meant to have, and would have had, if a cruel fate had not intervened.

"Erik..." you say.

Erik, misinterpreting your reaction, reaches for his mask, but you don't let him take it. Instead, you lead him firmly towards a mirror, and urges him to look. At first, he doesn't want to. He has avoided mirrors all his life. But, finally, you manage to persuade him to look at his own reflection. Staring at it in disbelief, he staggers.

"This can't be..." he says falteringly, exploring first the glass of the mirror, then his own face, with his hands. "It is not possible..."

"It is", you assure him. "Your face is healed! You never have to wear that mask again!"

"But I don't understand..." Erik continues, still touching his own face, tentatively pulling at it with his fingers to see if it will fall off. Luckily, it doesn't.

"It's pure magic!" I say, grinning.

"Who are you, really?" Erik asks me, still astonished. "If this is a conjuring trick, I fail to see how you did it!"

"That new face of yours is genuine enough!" I exclaim. "And don't worry, I won't charge you a fortune like the plastic surgeons do these days. As for my identity, you could say I am the Deus Ex Machina, or you could simply call me Narrator, just like your lady friend does. Speaking of which, I'm sure the two of you are eager to start your new life together. And I have to be off, anyway. Yours is not the only story in the world, you know!"

Before you have a chance to say goodbye, I have vanished very dramatically into thin air, never to be seen again. You are alone with Erik. The two of you are silent for a long time, letting recent events sink in. Then, Erik slowly moves towards the window and looks out in quiet admiration.

"I rather think I will like your time", he muses. "It seems very intriguing. Would you care to join me for a short walk outside? There must be a great deal of things left for me to discover. And... and I should very much indeed like to feel the wind on my face. It will be a new experience for me, you see. It would be appropriate, would it not? After all, I believe it is Sunday."

"Sunday or not, it is certainly very appropriate!", you say, smiling.

Erik caresses your face and smiles back at you happily.

He has a beautiful smile.

THE END


	22. Chapter XIXb: The Bad Ending

**Chapter XIXb: The Bad Ending**

It is the next morning. You haven't slept much during the night, and without looking at Erik, you sense that he is awake, too. Both of you are thinking about the previous night.

"Erik, it is all right", you say, trying to sound casual.

Erik doesn't reply or even acknowledge that he has heard you, but you can see his shoulders becoming tense.

"It can happen to anyone", you continue. "Especially if it's their first time, and if they are a little nervous."

You sound like Erik's psychologist rather than his intended lover. It isn't helping the situation.

"Please, Erik, say something!" you plead. "Tell me what you are thinking."

"What do you want to know?" Erik snaps. "That I am thinking about what a miserable creature I am? Not only am I horribly disfigured, now it turns out I can't even..."

"We can try again" you say, in an attempt to calm him down. "I am sure everything will be fine. And if it turns out there really is a... a medical problem, well, there are methods to deal with that, too."

Erik simply snorts.

"You must be longing for your friends the Comte and his brother", he adds sarcastically. "I am sure at least the former knows how to please the ladies. Although whether the women he pleases are actually ladies is debatable."

"Erik!" you object, hurt, "Don't talk like that! I don't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else. I love you."

"I am sure you thought you loved me", Erik says bitterly. "I am sure you believed me to be a mysterious, romantic hero who would take you with him into his fantasy world of music. Well, now you know the truth! I am nothing more than a pitiful old man, disfigured, incompetent, far from young and handsome. You must be planning your escape this very moment, rehearsing in your mind what to say, what to do, how not to hurt me too much when you decide that it is time for you to go back to your own world."

Erik starts to cry. You try to reassure him, but to no avail. As you should know by now, there is just no reasoning with Erik while he is wallowing in self-pity. And, although you hate to admit it, Erik's tantrum is starting to get on your nerves. After all, he wasn't the only one who was disappointed and felt awkward last night, but you have made an effort to be mature about it, whereas Erik is behaving like a child and making everything worse. The more he goes on and on about how pathetic he is, the more part of you actually wants to get out of there, if nothing else, to get some peace and quiet. Finally, after half an hour of incessant moaning, you have reached your limit.

"Fine!" you yell. "Since you have already decided that I want to leave, I might as well just go ahead then! I can't take any more of this."

You try to jump out of bed, but to your surprise, Erik has grabbed you by the wrist, as quickly as a cat pounces upon its prey, and you can't move.

"So", he roars, "you do want to go! Well, don't you think I know that if I let you go now, you will never come back. No, I will not let that happen - you are staying here! You are mine now, and you will not betray me!"

You try to think of a polite way to say to Erik that he is being ridiculously irrational at the moment, but you soon realize that there is nothing you can do. He has really lost his senses now. Apparently this humiliating experience, following the emotional turmoil of opening up to a woman for the first time, was the final straw. Or maybe it's just sleep deprivation.

"Oh, really?" I say. "Didn't I tell you several chapters ago that he was barking mad? And did you listen? Well, did you?"

You ignore me. Erik is giving you enough to worry about as it is. He drags you from the bed and pulls you out of the room. Then he pushes you into a chair and ties you to it with a thick rope.

"You are not going to leave!" he hisses. "There is no turning back now. You belong to me, and you are to stay here, for ever!"

He makes a dramatic exit into the music room and slams the door shut behind him. You are left sitting in the chair, unable to move and far away from anyone who might hear your calls for help. Besides, you have no chance of making yourself heard anyway - Erik is at the organ again. This time, the music he is playing is aggressive, dissonant and seemingly without any kind of logic. He has clearly gone quite insane. You find yourself wondering whether he will come to think of all those barrels of gunpowder that he, according to Leroux, keeps in his wine cellar. With that in mind, you realize that you should really try to escape while you are still in one piece. But how?

At that very moment, when everything seems completely hopeless, you hear a vague rustling sound. It seems familiar, but you don't recognize it immediately. Then you see it - a small furry head with sharp white teeth pops out of a hole in the wall. A few more seconds, and the whole rat is standing on the floor by your feet.

"Werther!" you whisper gratefully.

It is the first time in your life you have had the urge to kiss a rat.

Werther looks at you solemnly with eyes that say:

"When you love someone, you let them go. Even if you may never see them again."

Then he starts chewing on the rope. His teeth are as good as any knife, and he is working with almost religious fervor. Soon, the ends of the rope fall to the floor. Werther gives your hand a swift, timid lick with his pink tongue, then disappears rapidly the same way he came (because big rats don't cry).

Rising from the chair, you rush towards the front door. Luckily, it is open. When you get out on the other side your first thought is to get into the boat, but then you think about Erik's traps in the lake, and how he might be expecting you to try to escape.

"There is a safer way out!" I whisper in your ear. "Follow the fluorescent arrows!"

You look at the floor and see the arrows shining brightly. They are pointing you towards a hidden door, which you never noticed before. That is because it wasn't there before - I just put it there. You go through the door and find a steep flight of stairs. Hurrying upwards without looking back, you leave the fifth cellar and its rabid Phantom behind you for ever.

The staircase ends in a small hallway, at the end of which is another door. When you open it, you find yourself in the street outside the Opera house. A carriage is there, apparently waiting for someone.

"Get in!" you hear my voice calling from inside. "This is my time travel carriage. It will take you back to your own time. Hurry!"

You look at the carriage again. It seems a perfectly normal carriage, drawn by a perfectly normal horse (one of the four stock horses in this story - not the brown one, since he is so easily frightened). You step into the carriage and prepare to go home.

That very moment, you see a familiar face passing in the street. It is Christine Daaé, Philippe de Chagny's maid. You make a sound of recognition. She turns around and sees you.

"Oh, Mlle Reader," she says. "I heard about your great triumph at the Opera! Congratulations!"

"Thank you", you say, bowing your head gracefully.

"If I may say so", Christine continues, "I felt rather inspired by it. I mean, you came from nowhere and yet you managed to succeed in a very short time. That made me think about taking up singing again... so I'm going to the Opera today to audition for a place in the chorus. Perhaps I won't get the position, but... who knows?"

"Good luck, Christine!" you say cordially. "I mean that with all my heart! I am sure that, with the right tutor, you will be a great singer someday."

You breathe a sigh of relief as she enters the Opera house and your carriage starts moving.

Erik is Christine's problem now.

THE END


	23. Chapter XIXc: The Ugly Ending

**Chapter XIXc: The Ugly Ending**

It is the next morning. When you wake up, you find yourself still in Erik's arms, and you blissfully recall the previous night. Erik was so gentle, so loving, so intimate. And you were completely swept off your feet and caught in the moment of passionate ecstasy...

You didn't use protection, did you?

"My dearest, that was the most wonderful night of my life!" Erik says, turning towards you with a smile. "I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Erik", you say tenderly.

"You are such an extraordinary woman", he continues, caressing your hair. "And a very secretive one. To think I know nothing about your life before you came to the Opera!"

You laugh.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you!" you say.

"Try me", Erik challenges. "I have had some extraordinary experiences myself, I might surprise you!"

"Very well then", you say. "The truth is, I am not from this time. I was transported here from the future."

Erik stares at you in disbelief.

"That is very extraordinary indeed!" he says.

"You do believe me, don't you?" you ask, tentatively.

"Of course I believe you!" Erik replies. "The extraordinary thing is... I am from the future too! I invented the time machine in 2030, and decided to try it myself. Then, when I arrived in the 1860's, the machine broke down and I couldn't go back to my own time. I have been trapped here ever since, rejected by everyone because of my face and because the people here must have known I was essentially different from them."

This time it is your turn to stare. What a remarkable coincidence! But it does explain a lot - Erik's eccentricity, his technical skill, his position as an outcast and a recluse, at odds with society.

"Well", you finally say, grinning, "since we are both time travelers, maybe we were destined to meet. Maybe I could help you get back to your own time - or, even better, to mine!"

Erik smiles too.

"Spoken like a modern woman!" he remarks. "I would be honored to accompany you, Mademoiselle Angelique-Céléstine Reader!"

"That is not really my name", you admit.

"I would never have guessed", Erik says, looking at you in mock surprise. "What is your name, then?"

Leaning closer towards Erik, you softly whisper your name, your full real name, in his ear. His reaction is totally unexpected. Starting violently, he flies up from the bed with a horrified look on his face.

"Erik, what is it?" you ask, puzzled.

Erik doesn't say a word, but stares at you as if he has seen a ghost. Then he rushes out of the room and returns moments later with a photo in color. He hands it to you with a trembling hand.

"Is this you?" he says.

You look at the photo. It is indeed an old photo of you, one which you recognize as having been taken about a year ago. You look slightly different in this story, however, since I changed that one physical flaw of yours in Chapter I, and provided you with an aura of unearthly glow and beauty as a bonus. That must be the reason why Erik didn't recognize you from the photo straight away. But why would he keep a photo of you at all?

"Yes, that is me in the picture, but where did you get it?" you ask, with a vague feeling that you really don't want to know.

"From my mother", Erik says tonelessly.

"And... why would your mother give you this? you ask.

"Because it is a photo of her when she was a young woman."

"I... _what_?" you stammer.

"It would appear that you are my mother", Erik says, looking utterly disgusted. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I will go and poke my eyes out..."

He leaves the room and moments later, you hear him hammering away at his organ.

"My dear Narrator, what in the world is this supposed to mean?" you shout angrily to me as soon as he is gone. "What on Earth were you thinking, making me Erik's mother?"

Well, that is the general idea of your message to me, anyway. Of course, as for your actual vocabulary, I believe you put it all a little more eloquently than that, but I won't repeat such foul language in writing. You know very well what you said, but I don't intend to stoop to that level.

"Oh, give me a break!" you snap. "I have every right to be angry. This is completely ridiculous. It don't believe this is happening to me, it just can't be!"

At your display of mistrust, there is a small tear in the fabric which holds this story together. A tiny amount of grey mist enters through the hole, threatening to swallow the entire fictional universe.

"Careful!" I warn you. "I told you in Chapter I what happens if you let your critical thinking get the better of you!"

"Fine!" you say. "If you want to prevent me from becoming _really_ critical in my thinking, you'd better send me home right now!"

"Well..." I say, hesitantly. "I suppose I could do that. I'm sure you'll be fine, but there is little known research regarding the effect of time travel on fetal development."

"What did you just say?" you say, startled.

"I just mean that, considering the events of last night, who's to say you are not pregnant?" I explain. "And if so, time travel might cause all kinds of mutations and deformities to the baby."

"Well, so might inbreeding!" you say. "Besides, how am I going to get a pregnancy test that shows any kind of result only hours after conception? In the 19th century?"

"It is a bit of a stretch", I admit. "But for your sake, I will arrange it."

Moments later, you have a home pregnancy test in your hands (after having accidentally found it in a rat hole). You withdraw to perform the test. When you return after a few minutes, Erik has emerged from the music room. He can see, as well as I can, that you have some unsettling news.

"Erik, I am pregnant", you say.

Erik greets this startling announcement with thoughtful silence.

"Well, say something!" you implore him. "This is mainly your fault for not recognizing your own mother, after all. Remember I have never met you before!"

"I suspect you soon will", Erik muses, looking at your belly.

"What are you saying?"

"Only that I have no brothers or sisters", Erik continues. "What year do you come from?"

You tell him.

"Well", he says gloomily, "it fits. At least that explains why my mother never wanted to tell me who my father was..."

"Narrator!" you yell. "Now what do you have to say for yourself? Are you suggesting that Erik just fathered _himself_? And that he will get his facial disfigurement because I will travel back to my own time while pregnant? That is just ridiculous!"

"No", I object, "not more so than any other science fiction. It is a variation of the classic time travel paradox. If a man travels back in time and shoots his own grandfather..."

"Oh, please!" you snap. "In that case, all time travel fiction is implausible. There is no sense in this. It is just stupid and offensive. How could Erik not recognize me, anyway? What a cheap plot device!"

"Stop it!" I say. "Remember, you have to suspend disbelief, or else..."

"Well, I have had it suspending my disbelief!" you scream at the top of your lungs. "I was fine with being transported to the 1880's. I was fine with finding that there was no Paris except from the very block where the Opera was located, I was fine with the corridors changing shapes from one moment to the next, I was fine with nearly being killed by Erik, I was fine with being turned into a completely one-dimensional Mary Sue type because I understood the Narrator didn't really know me that well, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt because I thought she was on my side. But this - this is simply too much. I don't believe this! I don't believe this!"

"No!" I plead. "Don't say that! Suspend your disbelief! Suspend..."

But it is too late. The grey mist is already taking over, swirling around you and wiping away everything - Erik, the lair, the Opera house, 19th century Paris... When the mist clears, you are back in your room, in front of your computer, in the present day. I am in the room with you, leaning against the wall. At first you don't recognize me, because I look nothing like when you first met me in the beginning of this story. Now, I just look like any ordinary young woman, in fact, the way I look in real life. You stare at me, still a little angry.

"I told you not to read this chapter!" I say defensively.

You remember that it is true. I did tell you that.

"Besides", I continue, "it is all just fiction, anyway. I said you would not be harmed, and you are fine, aren't you?"

You have to admit that you are, in fact, none the worse for your adventure.

"I need some brain bleach, though", you say.

I laugh. You try to look at me reproachfully, but there's this giggle you can't suppress, and it's just waiting to surface. You can't help it - you laugh too.

"It was quite an adventure, though, wasn't it?" I say, smiling.

"It helped kill some time", you answer.

"I am sorry it didn't end better", I apologize.

"Oh well", you say, "I could always go back and read The Good Ending."

"Good girl", I say. "So, are we friends, then?"

"Okay", you say, smiling. "We are friends. You are a fellow 'Phan'. That's a redeeming quality."

"Sure", I say. "After all, it could have been worse."

"How exactly?" you ask.

"Well, I could have paired you up with Werther the rat, and nine months later you would have given birth to Raoul! Now, there's an idea..."

"That's it" you exclaim, giggling. "Leave! Leave now!"

I laugh and disappear with a loud BANG.

Luckily for you, I will now channel my morbid and over-active imagination into other stories, none of which use 2nd person narrative.

THE END


	24. Final Letter to the Reader

**Final Letter to the Reader**

Dear Reader,

Since our adventure has now finally come to a close, I feel it is only fair that I should thank you properly for your participation in this story. You have, throughout all the chapters, displayed great courage, talent, compassion and patience, and I am very glad to have made you the leading lady of my little tale. I am quite convinced that nobody else could have done it better!

I would also like to thank you for putting up with my sometimes obnoxious comments, and for staying with the story even when chapters were short and far between. Also, I am very grateful for all your reactions to our adventures, whether this response was written down and posted, spoken aloud or simply a silent thought in your head (e.g. "Give me a break!"). Rest assured that I took notice of them all. I am, after all, omniscient within the framework of this story.

There is something quite sentimental about saying goodbye to a friend for the last time (as I hope I may now refer to you as my friend, in spite of all our ups and downs during the course of the narrative). I hope that you may perhaps consider writing to me some day, if nothing else, to let me know that you have suffered no lasting trauma from our little journey.

Until then, I remain always

Your obedient friend

And Narrator.


End file.
